


See Me in Shadow

by TiaLewise



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!, Yu-Gi-Oh! - All Media Types, Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Citronshipping maybe, Heartshipping, M/M, Post-Canon, Thiefshipping, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-01-16 15:46:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 40,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12345732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiaLewise/pseuds/TiaLewise
Summary: An unlikely partnership seeks to bring back some light into Marik's life. Sometimes, letting go of the one you once loved just isn't an option. Post-canon Thiefshipping with a smattering of Heartshipping.





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

_This is the last time, I swear. This is the last time I will ever do anything seriously bad. Okay, now…breathe…keep calm…I can do this._

“I can’t do this,” an urgent voice whispered from somewhere near the thinker’s elbow. “Let’s go back, please?”

“Like hell! After all your pestering and begging, you’re going to turn back _now?”_

“Marik – ”

“We’re doing this, Ryou. Now be quiet, okay?” Marik pulled his hood down lower over his face, shadowing his distinctive features, and glanced quickly round the corner. “The guard has moved. Let’s go.”

“Why do I keep getting myself into trouble?” Ryou moaned, but he followed Marik down the dark corridor nonetheless.

The Museum of Egyptian Antiquities wasn’t open to the public at this time, and especially not at 3 o’clock in the morning, but having a sibling working within the field had its advantages. Ishizu’s stolen keycard rested in Marik’s hand, ready and waiting to open any restricted areas. Ryou carried a laptop bag, on standby in case any locks needed hacking into. This whole idea had been Ryou’s, but in typical fashion, he was getting cold feet now and panicking. Marik grabbed his arm and gave him an impatient tug to get him to speed up. “I think that’s the right door ahead of us. I don’t know if Ishizu’s card will get us in there, so wire your laptop up to the alarm, okay?”

Ryou nodded grimly, imitating Marik and pulling his hood lower to conceal his brilliant white hair. Marik looked around warily, then slid over to a nearby door and ran his gloved fingers over it thoughtfully. “Yep, this is the one.”

Ryou settled down and opened his bag, pulling out a battered old silver laptop and a length of cables. With deft fingers, he hooked the laptop up to the security trigger on the door and waited, hands poised over the keyboard and glancing around occasionally, listening out for guards.

Marik swiped Ishizu’s keycard down the slot at the side of the door. There was a click, but nothing happened when he pushed on the door. “Crap,” Ryou cursed, fingers suddenly flying over the keyboard, “Ishizu isn’t authorised to enter this area. You’ve tripped an alarm…so I’m trying to disable it now.”

“I don’t hear anything,” Marik whispered.

“It’ll be a silent one, to fool burglars, you know, like us.” Ryou bit his lip and groaned. “Ah, dammit, this is hard to crack!”

“Quickly!”

“I’m going as fast as I can…okay, done.” He typed a few more complex formulae and then sat back, sighing. “Try the card again. It should work now.”

Marik swiped the card again and pushed on the door, pleased to find it now swung wide open. “Come on,” he urged, gesturing. Ryou quickly slid his laptop back into the bag and followed him through, closing the door and locking it securely.

_Here they are!_

Seven cases. Seven glittering gold and glass pedestals. There were several that Marik could have paid a little more attention to, but he and Ryou had eyes for only one.

The Millennium Items had been recovered from the collapsed shrine in Kul Elna several months ago, and had been the subject of much media attention. For the time being, they had been stored away in this room to keep them safe while it was decided where to exhibit them. The very thought of these items being shoved on display for parades of people to ogle at had filled Marik with an unreasonable rage that he just couldn’t shake off. It wasn’t until he spoke with Ryou about it that he realised they were one and the same; they wanted the same thing.

So here they were. About to steal the Millennium Ring from under the nose of the Egyptian government.

“When I overrode the door, it should have disabled any alarms on the cases,” Ryou said quietly. “Be quick though. I think I might pass out from nerves if we stay here any longer.”

“I’m on it.”

Marik stepped towards the case he desired, slipping a hand underneath his coat. Ryou carefully lifted the glass casing, and Marik pulled out a near perfect replica of the Ring from his coat, quickly switching it with the real one.

The cool metal felt familiar and comforting against his fingers, the soft chiming of the tines as they clinked together stirring up long-repressed memories, memories he had had to push away so they didn’t hurt him anymore. He held it out towards Ryou. “You should take it.”

“Nuh-uh.” Ryou shook his head. “I’ll be happy if I never have to wear that thing again. I still have the scars.”

“Well, if you insist.” Marik slipped the worn cord around his neck and tucked it beneath his coat. A strange tingle shot up his spine. _It’s been too long since I felt close to you._

“Come on, Marik, let’s get out of here before we’re caught.”

* * *

The 8-hour drive back to Luxor was largely uneventful. Ryou fell asleep in the passenger seat, head lolling to the side and soft snores fluffing up the hair falling over his pale face. Marik, driving with one hand, felt the urge to rest also, but dared not in case they were being pursued. They had parked the car a good distance away from the museum when they broke in, so it couldn’t be spotted and recognised on any nearby CCTV, but he was taking no chances, and in any case, this wasn’t even his car; he’d borrowed it from Rishid and if it ended up in the compound as police evidence, Marik would be disowned for sure.

He still couldn’t believe when Ryou had turned up at his door a few nights ago, ruffled and jet-lagged, but bouncing with excitement at the prospect of a little late-night thievery. Clearly the mild-mannered Japanese-Brit had picked up more from his rebellious Egyptian spirit than he cared to admit. Their planning had been immensely fun, and Marik couldn’t help but think that it had felt so good, to laugh and scheme and simply feel like he had a friend again. Ryou was special, a shining gem in his life of fruitless redemption, the one person he felt he could open up to, because there was nobody else who could relate to him the way Ryou could.

When they reached Marik’s apartment, they tumbled inside, yawning, too exhausted to even discuss their success. Marik just collapsed on the sofa and waved Ryou off towards his bedroom, closing his eyes and falling asleep almost immediately.

It was well into the evening by the time Marik woke up, pushing himself groggily off the sofa. “Ryou?” he called out. “You still here?”

Ryou popped his head round the kitchen door. “Oh, you’re awake,” he smiled. “Well, there’s been no police battering down your door, so I think we’re safe. I made food if you want some.”

Marik grinned. “You’re taking over my place already and you’ve only been here three days. If you clean as well as you cook, you can totally move in with me.”

“Sorry, I prefer Japan,” Ryou smiled back, “though the offer is tempting. It’s been so lovely to see you again, I do wish I could stick around for longer. My plane ticket’s only good for another few days and then I really do have to go back home.” Ryou disappeared for a moment, then came back with two large bowls of vegetable and bean chilli, one of which he handed to Marik. “Maybe once we bring him back, you could come and visit?” Ryou asked, sitting down next to Marik with wide, deceptively innocent eyes. He was only three months or so older than Marik, but those huge brown eyes made him look a lot younger than their twenty years. “I’m sure Yugi and the rest would love to see you again.”

Marik grimaced, shaking his head. “I’ll be honest with you, Ryou, as far away as possible isn’t enough for me. After everything we’ve been through, I need the distance and more. Don’t get me wrong, I like Yugi, but it’s just…it’s just too much.”

Ryou nodded sadly. “I understand.”

“Does Yugi know you’re here?”

“He does, but not why. I thought he might get upset, so I just…didn’t say much else after that.”

Marik dug into his food as an excuse to not have to speak any further. The last twenty-four hours had left him ravenous, too nervous to eat a thing. Ryou just picked at his own bowl, content to knock back endless mugs of tea.

They spoke again once they had finished eating. “So…” Marik said, putting his bowl aside, “should we begin?”

Ryou nodded. “Yes, we shouldn’t waste time. You remember what to do?”

Marik remembered. He and Ryou had gone over it extensively the last few days. The Ring responded to the holder’s deepest desires and pointed towards them; Ryou had dabbled enough in occult realms to have gained a working knowledge of worlds beyond their own. He said he could pull whatever he liked from wherever he liked if he concentrated hard enough and had faith in himself. That was why he was here, not because he was beautiful and a good cook, but because he wanted Marik to take what his heart longed for.

“Okay…so…”

Marik slid the Ring out from underneath his coat, gripping it tightly in both hands. He closed his deep lavender eyes and thought of arrogance, an annoying, bratty laugh, shaggy white hair, orbs the colour of mahogany. He knew Ryou was watching him intently, and could feel the self-conscious flush spreading across his cheeks.

The Ring responded, its tines giving a soft clink before rising up, pointing towards Marik’s bedroom. He gave a dark chuckle, Ryou raising an eyebrow. “How apt,” Marik murmured, “that the closest way of getting to him is in the room where I’d have been dragging him, had I got my own way.”

Ryou blushed violently. “Um, you know…he _was_ in my body, so…”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“Oh, it’s fine. Let’s go and check out where it’s pointing.” Ryou jumped to his feet and hurried into the bedroom, Marik close behind. His eyes never left the Ring, watching it carefully for any signs its direction was changing. The tines swung to the right as soon as he had a foot in the dimly lit bedroom, then when he moved that way, they dropped back down, dead and still. Ryou clapped his hands gleefully. “We’ve found it! Okay, place the Ring where your feet are…yeah, just there. Step back, and I’ll start.”

It always perturbed Marik that Ryou had such a grasp on dark magics, something he didn’t think would even exist now, with no power within the Millennium Items to command the Shadow Realm. But if anyone could figure it out, it was Ryou. He’d spent enough years with his spirit to never forget the instincts for darkness.

The room seemed to grow dimmer, and Marik shivered, tugging on his long sandy-coloured hair nervously. Ryou had his eyes closed, hands clasped in what looked like prayer, but the soft, clipped dialect that rolled off his tongue certainly spoke no reverence for any deity they knew. It was Middle Egyptian, a language long-dead to all but the Tomb-Keepers, but Ryou had taught it to himself over the years, and now he spoke to the shadows, speaking of what he remembered, how the darkness had to let go of the shadow they desired within.

It was working. Deep violet and black swirls of darkness began to coalesce over the Ring. Ryou never ceased his chanting, but he unclasped his hands to reach into his pocket and draw out a small switchblade. He flicked it open and held it in his right hand, pressing the blade to the index finger of his left. A small flicker of pain crossed his face as he flicked his wrist, cutting into the delicate skin of his finger, but he continued to chant, opening his eyes now and kneeling down to press the bleeding digit to the centre of the Ring. The Eye of Horus in the centre welled up with Ryou’s blood, and Marik had to look away, feeling bile rise up in his throat. It had to be done, but he still couldn’t stand the sight.

One final, firm word, and the magic ceased. Ryou stepped back and stuck his finger in his mouth to stop the bleeding. Marik grabbed his arm and leaned in close, visibly trembling. “Ryou?” he whispered. “Have you done it?”

“I think so,” he replied softly, patting Marik’s hand. “Look…can you see? The shadows are becoming corporeal.”

And indeed they were, twisting and turning into something that began to resemble a human body. The shadows seemed reluctant to give up their prize, but at last the fruits of their labour came free, and Bakura, Spirit of the Ring, tumbled onto the carpet, naked, emaciated and panting heavily.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Just in case anyone gets confused over dates or anything, timeline-wise, the manga ended in March 1999. In this story, it's a little over halfway through the year 2001._

* * *

“M-Marik? Ryou…?” Bakura whispered. His eyes were wide and questioning, glittering like jewels in his gaunt face. “What’s going on? Where am I?”

Ryou pulled the comforter off Marik’s bed and knelt to drape it over Bakura, concealing his nakedness. “You’re in Egypt,” he told him gently. “In Luxor, to be precise. We brought you back from the Shadow Realm.”

Impossible…how?”

“Now, come on, Bakura, you should think better of me. You taught me all your shadow party tricks, after all.” Ryou bared his teeth in an amused grin.

“We stole the Ring,” Marik said quietly. “We stole the Ring and Ryou used it to drag you out.”

Bakura’s expression was that of utter shock. Confused and disoriented, he allowed Ryou to help him to his feet, clutching the comforter around him with a shaking hand.

Marik’s heart was hammering madly at the sight of his former partner in crime, but he’d be damned if he showed how he felt. He turned on his heel to walk to the other side of the room, opening his wardrobe and pulling out a few items of clothing. He was taller than Bakura by a few inches, but they were of a similar build so his clothes would fit him well enough. “Here, put these on,” he told him, placing black sweatpants and a grey shirt onto the bed. “Ryou, could you help him? I’ll go and put some tea on or something.”

“Sure thing, Marik,” Ryou smiled.

Marik could feel Bakura’s eyes fixed on him as he hurried from the room. He wondered how much explaining they’d have to do when Bakura was aware enough to comprehend them. _He looked so dazed, I’m surprised he even recognised us at all._

Shaking his head, he flicked the kettle on – Ryou drank so much tea whenever he visited that Marik had gone and bought a kettle to accommodate him – and set about gathering mugs, finding several scattered about the kitchen and living room. He couldn’t help smiling in amusement. _I swear Ryou is 70% tea these days._

Soft footsteps alerted him to Ryou and Bakura entering the kitchen. Bakura looked a little more himself now he was dressed and alert, gazing at his surroundings curiously. Ryou followed behind, looking pleased. “Sit down,” Marik said to Bakura, indicating the tiny table carelessly shoved away in the corner. Bakura quirked an eyebrow at him, but pulled up a chair and sat nevertheless. Marik placed a mug of tea in front of him and dropped into another chair, leaving Ryou to hoist himself up onto the counter, watching them with bright eyes as he swung his long legs back and forth.

“You two had better start explaining why I’m here,” Bakura muttered, running a hand through his unruly hair. “One minute I’m trapped in that damned darkness, and the next, I’m naked in Marik’s bedroom. You say you stole the Ring? Tell me how that went down.”

Ryou took a sip from his tea. The way he looked at Bakura was akin to the way someone might look at a leaf on the floor – commonplace, normal, something you see every day. Nothing shocked or frightened Ryou anymore, not even the reappearance of the spirit that had terrorised his teenage years.

“Well, the Millennium Items were excavated recently,” he told Bakura. “It’s been all over the news, you know. They’re all on display at the museum in Cairo, but something just…didn’t sit right with Marik and I about it all. So…”

“So we broke in earlier this morning,” Marik piped up, Bakura looking at him with surprise, “and we switched the Ring with a fake. Turns out Ryou is quite the expert hacker.”

Bakura turned his deep brown gaze on his hikari. _“You,_ breaking into a museum and pilfering a priceless artefact? I’m almost proud of you.”

“Thanks,” he winked. “I learned from the best, after all.” Marik noted with amusement that he left out the fact he panicked like a dog without its ball the instant he’d even set foot inside the museum.

Bakura chuckled softly at that. “You’ve changed a lot, kid. I thought you would be a snivelling little wimp forever, but look at you!” He leaned forward, observing Ryou intently. “Are those…muscles I see? You work out now?”

“Uh, sometimes.” Ryou gave his arm an experimental flex, but he was blushing a little at the scrutinising stare. “They didn’t really pop up until last year.”

“Damn, how long has it even been?”

“Two years. We’re twenty now, well, I’m just about to turn twenty-one.”

“So it must be August or thereabouts?”

“Yup. The 29th, to be precise, year 2001.”

Bakura looked rather impressed, chuckling again as he turned away from Ryou. He reached out his hands to wrap securely round his mug, closing his eyes at the warmth seeping into his skin.

Marik took this opportunity to take a proper look at Bakura, now he was in good lighting. He really was thin, almost like he was wasting away before their eyes. His silver hair was a wild mess, his skin grey, dry and lifeless. The Shadow Realm clearly had not been kind to him. “You look like hell,” he told him.

Bakura’s eyes snapped open. “I’ve definitely been better,” he murmured.

Marik nearly fell out of his chair in shock. _No snarky comeback? No biting sarcasm? Who is this guy and what has he done with Bakura?_

Bakura seemed to register the surprise on Marik’s face, and he sighed, bringing his mug to his lips. “Sorry, did you expect me to snap some witty remark at you? Maybe later, Marik. I’m absolutely exhausted. A few hours’ sleep and I’ll be insulting you just the way you like it.”

“You can take my bed tonight,” Marik offered immediately. “Ryou’s only here for another day or so. He can take the couch till he goes back to Japan.”

“I feel so privileged,” Ryou smirked, still swinging his legs. “But what about you?”

“Floor’s fine. I’ve slept on much worse in my time. Tomb-Keeper beds are made from only the very finest rough-hewn rock.” He and Bakura laughed, both of them knowing all too well the primitive comforts they had been subject to as children.

Ryou smiled at their camaraderie, before sliding off the counter and pulling out his mobile. “Excuse me…I’d best give Yugi a call. It must be nearing midnight in Domino now. I’ll be back soon.” Waving a hand at Bakura, he left the room. Marik heard the apartment door close with a soft snap a few moments later.

Bakura watched him go with a confused expression. “What’s so important that he has to leave?”

“Ah, well…he probably wants to dirty talk Yugi or something.” Marik gave Bakura a wry smile. “Ryou and Yugi have been seeing each other for, oh…just over a year now. I know, hard to believe, right? They’re really happy though. It’s great to see. Ryou’s so sweet and precious, I’m glad he has someone to look after him.”

Bakura blinked a few times, mouth slightly open. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Nope.”

“The way you’re speaking about him, anybody would think _you_ wanted to look after him.”

“What? No! Well, yes, but not like that. I’m not interested in Ryou, he’s just my friend.”

Bakura grunted in reply, lapsing into quiet thought. Marik gazed at him, draining the rest of his tea, ignoring the burning in his throat. The uncomfortable feeling in his chest, however, was harder to ignore. There was so much he wanted to say, to do. The urge to let himself go and just spill everything was becoming unbearable.

But he held back. His voice no more than a whisper, he said, “Bakura…I missed you so much.”

Bakura’s eyes raised up to meet Marik’s, mahogany to lavender. There was an uncharacteristic softness playing around the former thief’s expression, but his body language was tense and unsure of the meaning behind Marik’s words.

“Is that why you brought me back?” he asked. “Because you missed me?”

“No, I just…it was so unfair.” Marik balled his hands into fists. “Ryou told me everything. How he knew all your plans, how he helped you make your final Shadow Game…and he told me what Yugi saw in the Memory World. Your past. Everything that happened to you as a child. Don’t you think it was so fucking unfair that all you wanted was to finally give the ghosts of your people the rest they deserved, and then you got flung back into nothingness while the Pharaoh got to parade himself into the afterlife? It wasn’t _fair!”_

“Marik,” Bakura murmured. “Marik, calm down. The Items were returned to the Millennium Stone, weren’t they?” He closed his eyes briefly, a faint smile playing around his lips. “I can sense it…I can sense that they’re resting now. That’s all I wanted. My purpose is fulfilled, and Zorc is gone. I don’t know what I’ll do with myself from here on out, but I won’t deny that having a body of my own is a nice little welcome gift.” He raised a hand and laughed softly. “Though, really, you could have thought to bring me back in my original body. This pale thing looks too much like Ryou.”

“Ryou never saw you in your original body,” Marik replied. “He could only work off what he already knew.”

_And in any case, you’re fucking gorgeous like this._

Bakura finished his tea and rubbed his eyes wearily. “Look, Marik…I appreciate you and Ryou bringing me back, but I’m worn out to fuck, so I’m turning in for the night. Your bed better be comfortable, because I don’t think I’ve actually slept in two years.”

Without waiting for a reply, he pushed his chair back and left the room. A few moments later, Ryou trailed back in, looking cheerful. “What a day it’s been!” he exclaimed. “You know, I really didn’t think that we’d pull it off, but we did! Can you believe it?”

“Why are you so happy?” Marik asked incredulously. “I’m surprised you even agreed to any of this. Bakura put you through hell when he possessed you. All your scars were his doing.”

Ryou just shrugged. “Things are different now. We knew that if we did this, he’d no longer be contaminated with Zorc’s influence. We knew he’d be different, even if just a little.” He dropped down into the chair Bakura had just left. “And I know how you feel about him. You deserve a chance to tell him, just as much as he deserves to live his life without a corrupted soul.”

Marik grinned. “You’re too nice for your own good, you know that, Ryou?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if I should just be a dick sometimes, you know, balance it out a little, but I _like_ being nice and helping people. It’s bloody sickening, but it’s me.”

“I like “bloody sickening” Ryou,” Marik laughed. “Come on, Bakura’s gone to bed. Let’s play some games or something.”

“Ooh, that sounds good.” Ryou’s face lit up and he dashed into the living room, turning on Marik’s PlayStation and inserting Medal of Honour. Marik followed him in with an armful of assorted snacks, and together they laughed, joked and gunned each other down in endless deathmatches till they grew bored and tried to outrace each other on Crash Bandicoot Warped time trials instead. Ryou reigned supreme, having spent a ridiculous amount of time playing it back in Japan.

Afterwards, they watched the recently released The Mummy 2, pointing out any historical mistakes in the film that they might find. Marik began drooping around halfway through the film, and ended up with his head in Ryou’s lap. Ryou smiled down at Marik and lifted his head up to slide a cushion underneath him, settling his head back down.

_I’m sure I was supposed to…take the floor…ah, damn it, Ryou is so comfy. I bet Yugi uses him as a pillow all the…all the time…_

* * *

Marik awoke with a start around 7 o’clock in the morning, realising he’d dozed off completely on Ryou. He glanced up at the mass of pale skin and white hair above him, seeing Ryou snoozing with his head on his arm, legs curled up to the side and the pillow having shifted, but Marik’s head was still atop it. Joints cracking, Marik sat up and stretched, wincing at the sharp pains that ran across his stiff back, aggravating the scars that mutilated his bronzed skin. _I need a shower._

The blazing hot water did little to ease the pain in Marik’s back, but it would do for now; he knew he’d probably forget about it for most of the day until evening. He dried off, tying his damp hair up into a ponytail, drenched his back in oil, and crept quietly into his room to find clean clothes.

Bakura was still sound asleep in Marik’s bed, on his side with a pillow held close to his chest. The covers had slipped below his waist and his shirt had ridden up, exposing a delicious strip of skin at his midriff. Below that, his hipbones jutted out alarmingly, and Marik made a mental note to ensure Bakura started eating properly to put weight back on. _Stick-thin or not, he’s still so beautiful,_ Marik thought as he opened a drawer, pulling out a pair of boxers. Before he could slip them on, he felt a deep gaze fixed firmly on him, and he looked back up to see Bakura smirking at him, eyes half-lidded. “Giving me a show?” he asked sleepily. “Really, Marik, you didn’t need to return the favour.”

Marik blushed violently and yanked his boxers on, turning away to find some trousers. “I thought you’d sleep a while longer. Besides, this is _my_ room. I can be naked in here if I want to be.”

“Oh, to be sure.” Bakura’s eyes slid closed again and he rolled onto his stomach. “Don’t mind me, I’m going back to sleep anyway. Unless you want to flash me again, in which case, sure, I’ll get up for that.”

“What makes you think I’d indulge you in that?” Marik snapped.

“No reason at all,” Bakura chuckled. “You were definitely taking a risk coming in here with no clothes on though. I could have been awake for hours for all you knew. Perhaps you _wanted_ me to see you naked.”

“Shut up, don’t flatter yourself.” Marik tugged on a pair of loose linen trousers, remaining shirtless to let the oil on his back sink into his skin. “You’re back to normal then. You were right, some sleep sorted you right out.”

“Mm.” Bakura let out a yawn.

“I’ll let you sleep some more.”

“Thanks.”

 _Gods, Ryou was right, he really has changed._ Marik grinned to himself as he left the bedroom and went to the kitchen, putting the kettle on. He knew Ryou would be up and about soon, and would require copious amounts of caffeine in order to function. At the same time, he pulled a bowl of pre-cooked ful, the traditional Egyptian breakfast dish, from the fridge and tossed it into the microwave.

At the clattering of the microwave door shutting, Marik heard Ryou heave himself off the sofa, and a few moments later he padded into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. “Morning, fluffball,” Marik smiled, handing him a strong mug of tea.

“Mm…thanks,” Ryou murmured. Marik resisted the temptation to laugh, realising Ryou sounded just like Bakura. When the ful was heated through, he put some aside for Bakura, and divided the rest between himself and Ryou.

“I need to head down to the market,” Marik told Ryou as they ate. “I’m a little nervous, considering we _did_ just steal a priceless artefact, but we’re far away from Cairo, and I don’t think we were spotted.”

Ryou wiped his mouth delicately. “What do you need?”

“A few more bits of food, maybe some clothes and necessities for Bakura. I don’t know what he plans to do now, but I at least want him to stay here for a few days while he settles back into normal life.”

“Sounds good. He’ll probably stay with you a long time, if I’m honest…if you can accommodate him, anyway. Your apartment _is_ pretty small.”

“He can carry on sleeping in my bed for the time being.”

“What about you though?” As Marik got up to put his empty bowl in the sink, Ryou indicated his back, still glistening with oil. “Sleeping on the sofa must be hard on your back. You really should be in your own bed.”

“What, with Bakura?”

“That’s what you wanted, right?” Ryou giggled.

“Well, yeah, but…” Marik ran a hand over his face and groaned. He sat back down and buried his head in his arms. “Ryou, how did you and Yugi even approach each other with all this? What am I supposed to do?”

An affectionate smile brightened Ryou’s pretty face, and he leaned back in his chair. He recalled to Marik how he’d been able to see the deep loneliness in Yugi’s eyes ever since Atem departed to the afterlife. He knew Yugi needed someone to talk to, who understood what he had been through. They began to spend more time together, first as friends, growing ever closer, until the day Ryou presented Yugi with his very own Monster World diorama.

He had recreated the ceremonial duel between Atem and Yugi, made every tiny little figurine for the people that were present, even Atem’s priests and his friend Mana. To top it all off, there were figurines for every single card they had used, amongst many others that Ryou added in. Yugi had been astounded that Ryou remembered so much, and Ryou had admitted he didn’t know if it would work as an actual campaign; he’d made it more as a display piece. But Yugi wanted to play, he wanted to try it. So, one on one, they played. Ryou used Yugi as the boss piece, and Yugi played as Atem. He figured chance might be on his side; maybe he could rewrite the events of his memory.

But no matter how they played, the events played out the same way. They played it several times that night, trying to change the flow of the game, but in the end, it was always the same. Yugi won, and Atem passed on. Even down to the cards that were drawn, everything was the same.

Ryou had expected Yugi to get upset, to cry, to lament that there was nothing he could ever have done. But to his surprise, Yugi had smiled. “I never thought moving on would be this hard…” he had whispered. “But, Ryou…with you by my side, it’s getting easier.”

And Ryou, unable to hold himself back anymore, had kissed him…

“Alright, alright, no more!” Marik laughed. “You’re going to make my teeth rot with all this sweetness!”

“Sorry,” Ryou grinned.

“So…you’re saying I need to make a nerdy game board for Bakura, and then he’ll fall in love with me?”

“No,” replied Ryou. “I’m saying you should just get to know him more personally. You two barely spent a week together during Battle City. There probably isn’t much you _do_ know about him, and the same with him about you.”

“Hmmm, I suppose you’re right.”

“Listen. If he’s up to it, you should spend the day together. Why don’t you take him out with you today?”

“Like a date?”

“Not a date. Just a chance to understand each other better.”

“Okay then.” Marik suddenly smiled. “I know just where to take him.”


	3. Chapter 3

Bakura finally rolled out of bed around midday, emerging from the bedroom in the clothes he'd slept in and clutching the bloodstained Millennium Ring. When Marik tried to protest, he scowled at him and pressed it close to his chest. "You have got another thing coming if you think I will let one of you two morons keep hold of this," he snapped.

"He has a point, Marik," Ryou said quietly, sat cross-legged on the sofa with his laptop, typing away leisurely. "He's got every right to the Ring, and every other Millennium Item, in fact."

"…Alright, but you have to keep it hidden. Keep it under your clothes if you want to wear it. We just stole that damn thing and I won't have you getting us caught out."

Bakura flashed him a grin and slipped the Ring on under his shirt. "Your secret is safe with me."

"Are you hungry?"

"Bloody ravenous."

Marik took Bakura's hand and led him through to the kitchen, sitting him down and placing the remaining ful in front of him. "I'm a bit low on food at the moment, so I need to go out soon and pick up some more stuff. You're welcome to come with me if you like."

Bakura regarded him warily as he chewed. Swallowing, he asked, "What's in it for me?"

"You do know where we are, right?"

"Luxor, Ryou said."

"That's right. Luxor stands where Thebes once stood. And just over the Nile is the Valley of the Kings. Which means?"

"Oh." Bakura's eyes widened. "We're…"

"Yes. How about a trip down memory lane?"

Bakura didn't reply, but he gazed down into his bowl with a small smile. After a few moments, he nodded slowly. "Good," Marik said. "You need clean clothes. Go and grab something out of my wardrobe, and for the love of Ra, take a shower and brush that bird's nest you call hair."

"Fuck you," Bakura growled. "You try spending two years encased in darkness. Personal grooming didn't exactly factor into my daily thought processes."

Marik rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Just let me know when you're ready to go."

"You know," Ryou murmured as he breezed into the kitchen, Bakura stalking off with a frustrated hiss, "you can't really complain about his appearance, considering you yourself haven't shaved your face in three days. And you had the nerve to call  _me_ fluffball! What do you call that fuzz on your lip?"

Marik rubbed his cheeks self-consciously. "I guess I should get rid of this. And put some eyeliner on."

Ryou settled himself in the chair Bakura had vacated. "Are you going to tell your brother and sister about Bakura?"

"I'm not sure. Have you told Yugi?"

"Not yet. Probably better to tell him in person."

"Will he be upset with you?"

"No doubt."

"You're not worried?"

"No. Yugi never stays mad with anyone for very long." He reached out and took Marik's hand. "I do wish you'd come back with me, you know," he said softly. "You're wasting yourself out here. Just living off the money you garnered from the Ghouls and waiting for something to change around here doesn't sound very fun. Throw into the equation the fact that Egypt isn't exactly too accepting of gay men, and you've got yourself a recipe for total isolation. Why do you stay here, Marik? You had the time of your life in Japan. You don't have to see Yugi or the others. Just…come and visit sometime. Please. Goodness knows, you'd save me a bit of money. How many times have I come out here to see you in the last two years?"

Marik let out a weak laugh. "Yeah, I've lost count now."

"Will you at least think about it?"

_Gods, Ryou, I wish I could, but I'm just too scared to face anyone again._

Marik sighed and gently pulled his hand from Ryou's, knowing the softly-spoken young man was right. He didn't do  _anything_ here in Luxor. Hell, the most exciting thing he had done was stealing the Ring. He'd done much worse with the Ghouls, but they were all but disbanded now, Marik calling on a select few only very rarely, when necessity dictated. He'd swore he'd try to repent for his crimes, so the thought of seeing Yugi again, even after fulfilling his duties as Tomb-Keeper, was terrifying.

_I killed my father. I tried to drown Yugi and Jonouchi. Bakura and I mutilated Ryou's body. I used Anzu as a mind-slave…though through her, that was the only way I could survive. I've done awful things, and sometimes I feel as though I'll never be clean of that horrific stain. They all forgave me, but I can't forgive myself._

Ryou knew better than to push Marik, so he settled for giving him a friendly smile, and pulled himself back up, retreating into the living room again, leaving Marik with his thoughts.

Half an hour later, Bakura returned to the kitchen, clean, dry and dressed, having thrown on baggy, faded jeans and a black hoodie, and stealing a pair of Ryou's Converse trainers. Emulating Marik, he had tied his long hair back into a ponytail, though his was far messier, loose strands framing his face and sticking out haphazardly. Marik thought he looked wonderful, if still very gaunt and rather ill. "Ready whenever you are," Bakura told him, leaning back against the counter and shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Okay," Marik said quietly. "I'll just sort my face out, and we'll be off."

Bakura stared at him. "Sort your face out?"

"Yup."

"What's there to sort out? You look fine."

"Oh, I didn't know you went for guys with beards, Bakura."

Bakura threw back his head and laughed. "There's a first time for everything, I suppose."

"Don't get used to it. I don't do facial hair."

"Shame. Some people like a bit of scratchiness during kisses," Bakura winked.

"Who says I'm going to kiss you?"

"I never said you were going to. You're definitely thinking it though."

"W-What?" Marik scrambled up, scowling. "You're such an ass."

"And you're so easy to read you might as well be a book." Bakura crossed the room and grabbed the kettle to fill it with water. "Go and sort your face out then. I'll sit and drink tea with Ryou till you're done."

* * *

The look on Bakura's face as they wandered the streets of Luxor was nothing short of spectacular. Every few seconds he would stop to observe or admire, picking up random objects here and there, sometimes lost for words and other times dropping down into a crouch to speak with the many children that tore up and down, their little voices shrill, excited squeaks. Marik couldn't quite believe his eyes. He'd never seen Bakura so much as approach anyone, at least not without the intent to murder them, yet here he was, grinning at a scrappy little girl with mud on her face and hair in messy pigtails, chatting away to her in spirited Arabic. "I didn't know you spoke my tongue," Marik said after the girl ran away.

"I'm not fluent," Bakura replied, sticking his hands in his pockets and resuming their walk. "I couldn't hold a full conversation with you, but I understand well enough."

"Hmmm…interesting,  _ya amar."_

_"_ _Ayreh feek!"_

Marik laughed, giving Bakura a soft punch on the arm. "You wish. Do you speak any other languages?"

"Middle Egyptian, Japanese and English."

"Tell me something in Middle Egyptian."

Bakura pondered for a moment. Then he spoke, short, clipped and glottal. " _Hor ka nakht mery Ra, nebty wer shefyt mek Kemet, nub Hor user renput, aa nehktu, nesu bity user Maat Ra, setep en Ra, sa Ra, Ra mesi su mery Amun."_

Marik smiled. "That's the royal titulary of Ramesses II."

"Indeed. You speak it too?"

"Mm. I had to learn it as a child."

Bakura looked impressed. "Tell me something. Another pharaoh. Let's hear how your pronunciation is."

"Okay. It's been a few years since I spoke it, but I think I can remember something… _Useret kau, wadjet renput, netjeret khau, Maat ka Ra, khnemet Amun Hat shepsut."_

Bakura nodded. "It's a little off, but I guess I'm the only native speaker in this world, so I can't hope for too much."

Marik decided to take that as a compliment.

They had reached the sprawling market now, and Bakura stopped in his tracks again. A look of deep satisfaction passed over his face as he lifted his head up and inhaled deeply. "It reminds me of home," he murmured. "It was never this busy, but the sounds and the smells…it's like being a child again."

Marik took his arm, squeezing gently. "Not long now. We'll go after I'm done picking up groceries."

* * *

Bakura's wonderment never ceased the whole time they roamed the market. Marik lost him on several occasions, but after a time he just let him look around, knowing he'd be able to spot his bright silver hair amongst the sea of black locks from the other market-goers, and occasionally he saw the unmistakeable flash as he weaved his way through the crowds. Marik had given some money to Bakura and told him to buy whatever he wanted, so no doubt he was perusing the stalls with a keen eye, and probably stealing a few bits here and there too. Some habits die hard, and Bakura's were no exception.

Two hours later, Marik sat on a low wall overlooking the rushing Nile river, swinging a leg, the other drawn up underneath him. He had dropped off his shopping at his apartment and found a note from Ryou to say he'd gone out on his own for the day, and that he'd be back quite late. So, Marik had made his way down to the river, where the usual ferries were stationed to take tourists over the other side towards the Valley of the Kings, and organised passage for himself and Bakura.

"Ah, there you are." Bakura hopped up onto the wall beside Marik, flicking his ponytail over his shoulder. "Was starting to think I'd never find you. Normally I'd just follow the stench of that cologne you wear, but it seems everyone likes to anoint themselves in some heady perfume here."

"Pretty much," Marik laughed. "Did you find anything worthwhile?"

"A few odds and ends. I got food as well. Here." He held out a small wrapped parcel to Marik, who opened it with a confused expression. A burst of steam hit him in the face from the bundle of tameya, mahshi and torshi nestled inside.

"Holy crap, you bought me food?" he asked, shocked. "You barely fed Ryou when you had control of his body."

"Oh, be quiet. Anyway, I checked you could eat everything before I got it. Ryou says you're really fucking fussy with your food."

"I'm vegan, not fussy. Big difference."

"So that means no meat or milk at your place then?"

"You're welcome to buy it, so long as you're not giving it to me or expecting me to touch it."

Bakura shrugged. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a twinkling amulet, shaped like a scarab beetle. "This caught my eye," he said, showing it to Marik. "It's completely useless, but it looked pretty."

"It is," Marik agreed, taking a bite of his food and smiling. "You should give it to Ryou. He likes collecting little things whenever he comes here."

"…Yeah, maybe. I'd probably lose it anyway if I kept hold of it." He tucked it back into his pocket and reclined slightly with a sigh. "I'm going to be sunburnt to hell when I get back."

"Sorry. I should have thought to ask you if you needed sun lotion."

"I'll live," he replied. His eyes roved over the Nile almost wistfully, and Marik supposed his heart must have felt heavy, being so close to his hometown, just on the other side of the river. He glanced around briefly, seeing the streets being deserted for the moment, and slid his free hand over, resting his fingers over the back of Bakura's pale hand. Bakura blinked at him. "Marik?"

"Bakura…how do you feel?" he asked softly. "You seem to have adjusted well, but surely you must still be scared, or confused. I don't want to feel bad for bringing you back if it was against your will."

"Don't be stupid," Bakura snorted. "I'm fine. Sure, I was confused at first, but now, I think it's fucking brilliant that I'm here." He pulled his hand away from Marik to run it through his hair, pushing the messy strands behind his ears. "There's just one thing that's bothering me."

"Oh?"

"I don't know, it just feels like my soul is lighter somehow. I can't describe it properly, but it's like I don't have to be a total dickhead anymore. I don't feel the need to go out and fuck people up."

"That's probably because Zorc isn't a part of you anymore," Marik explained. "We thought about that before we attempted to bring you back. We knew Zorc had been destroyed, and with him, you, but we were willing to take the risk and hope that we didn't bring both of you back at once. Seems we did okay."

"You sure did." A faint smile played around Bakura's lips. "I want to make the most of this. But not here. Too many fucked up memories. I just want to see my home and then I'll be hightailing it out of here."

"What do you mean?" Marik popped two tameya into his mouth.  _Wow, these are amazing. I wonder which stall he found these at._

"I mean I'm not staying in Kemet – ah, Egypt. No, first chance I get, I'm heading back to Japan. I'll need time to get a passport or something, otherwise I'd head back with Ryou when he leaves tomorrow morning. Domino always did strike me as the best place to be, and in the 3,000 years I'd been possessing people's bodies, that's saying a lot of good about it."

Marik's heart sank a little, but secretly he harboured an inkling that Bakura wouldn't want to remain here, so close to Kul Elna and the source of his horrific past. So he just nodded and continued eating, not able to trust himself to speak. Bakura turned his gaze back to the Nile, drawing his legs up to his chest and resting his head on them. He began to sing a soft, lilting melody, one that Marik didn't recognise, but he heard the lamentations in his voice, understood the grief, the hope in his heart for those long gone.

"That was beautiful," he whispered when Bakura finished. "Where did you learn that?"

Bakura looked a little embarrassed, his pale cheeks flushing. "My people…we would sing this when someone died. After the slaughter, I remember trying to sing it, but my throat was too choked up from crying, and I could barely get the words out. After that, I couldn't bring myself to try ever again."

"Till now."

"Mm." Bakura sighed and dropped his head down further, pressing his forehead into his knees so Marik wouldn't see just how lost he felt, knowing what was close by. "I have to do this," he said in a muffled voice, "but then I don't want to come here ever again. I'm done. I'm done wallowing in the tragedy of my past."

"Bakura."

He lifted his head at Marik's gentle tone. The young man gazed at him in reverence, wishing he could just lean in and embrace him, take away his pain. Instead he just offered him some of his food. "You need to fatten up," he told Bakura sternly. "The least I can do before you abandon me is feed you."

"Marik, I…" Bakura stammered, his cheeks flushing again. Then he smirked. "Thanks." He popped a mahshi in his mouth, and Marik placed the parcel down on the wall between them, scooting closer. Taking a gamble, he rested his head on Bakura's shoulder, and to his surprise, he didn't pull away or glare at him, or even spit insults. Rather, Bakura nestled his own head against Marik's with another sigh. "I like this," he whispered after a period of silence.

"Me too," Marik replied softly.

"Tell Ryou, or anyone else, and I will gut you."

"After I took you into my home, fed and clothed you? Wow, thanks, Bakura."

Bakura chuckled. "You know I'm joking."

"Yeah. But just…be quiet, okay? Let's enjoy the moment."

"Mm. Okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Rough translation of the words spoken in Arabic and Middle Egyptian, in order of appearance -**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **"Ya amar" - my moon/my most beautiful**
> 
>  
> 
> **"Ayreh feek" - fuck you (quite literally "my penis in you" which I find rather amusing)**
> 
>  
> 
> **"Hor ka nakht mery Ra, nebty wer shefyt mek Kemet, nub Hor user renput, aa nehktu, nesu bity user Maat Ra, setep en Ra, sa Ra, Ra mesi su mery Amun" - The strong bull, beloved of Ra, protector of Egypt who curbs foreign lands, rich in years, great in victories, the justice of Ra is powerful, chosen of Ra, Ra has fashioned him, beloved of Amun**
> 
>  
> 
> **"Useret kau, wadjet renput, netjeret khau, Maat ka Ra, khnemet Amun Hat shepsut" - Mighty of Ka's, flourishing of years, divine of appearance, the true one of the ka of Ra, united with Amun, foremost of noble ladies**


	4. Chapter 4

Marik had visited Kul Elna dozens of times now, and never really thought anything of it. It bustled with the usual hum of activity that came with being in a quiet village. But now, visiting with Bakura, it all just felt  _wrong._

_There shouldn't be anyone here. Not now. This won't be how he remembers it._

But to his surprise, Bakura looked rather cheerful. "It's really bounced back," he said quietly as he looked around at the place of his birth. "Very…modern. I like it."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Can't expect even a remote little place like this to not be with the times." Bakura folded his arms across his chest and grinned. "Come on, Marik. If it's still here, I'll show you where I used to play as a child."

They walked through the dusty streets, Bakura stopping every now and then, as he did in Luxor, to take a look around. He pointed out where houses had once stood, landmarks he knew, even the old stone hut where he said he was born in the middle of a violent sandstorm. He told stories of his family, starting with his mother, how she'd treat his cuts and scrapes whenever he fell over, wipe away his tears and tell him to be strong.

His father, who would go out for days at a time with the other men of the village, and would bring back gold and jewels from the tombs they raided, so they could afford to buy bread, beer and medicine.

His older sister, a beautiful girl with hair the colour of burnished steel who could dance like a feather on the wind.

His grandfather, a wizened old man, one of the eldest in the village, who told wonderful stories.

Marik listened eagerly, glad that Bakura felt comfortable enough to divulge such intimate details to him.  _I haven't even asked him, and yet he's willingly telling me. This is a really good sign._

"Yes…it's around here…if I just…ah. Here we go."

They were on the far end of the village now, and Bakura was pushing away some tough, dead scrub plants, revealing a sizeable cavern within the roughly-cut walls. Marik gasped. "This little cave? I can't believe it hasn't collapsed in on itself over the years."

"What's wrong? Afraid of a little falling rock?" Bakura winked. "In you go. Let's see what we can find."

Marik rolled his eyes and ducked underneath Bakura's arm to step inside. The cavern stretched back a fair way, and it was obvious that somehow, nobody had been inside here for millennia, as if something had protected it all this time. There was a clay pot in the corner, a few old coins scattered over the floor, the remains of a lamp hanging on a sharp outcrop of rock, a cracked box lying near the far wall.

Bakura stepped in behind Marik and chuckled. "God, I can't believe I used to actually live in this thing."

"I thought you said you played here."

"I did. And when I got older, when I returned to the village, I slept here too." His gaze softened as he raised a thumb to his mouth, nibbling on his nail. "It's all so well preserved. It's weird to see."

"Are you glad you came here?"

"Definitely. Now…I wonder if there's anything in this pot…"

Bakura strode over to the clay pot and tugged the lid off. A wild cackle suddenly burst from his lips. "I don't believe it! Marik, look at this!"

He reached a hand inside and drew back, holding a collar of glimmering gold. Marik went over and dropped to his knees beside the pot, admiring the jewellery. It was slim, reminding Marik of the chokers that Yugi often wore, and set with a ruby in the centre; it was probably made for women, but he thought it immensely beautiful. "Who did you steal this from?" he asked.

"Fuck if I know. I robbed that many tombs, they've all blurred together in my memory now. But that's not all…look." He lifted the pot up and emptied it onto the floor, its contents spilling out and rolling around. Marik stopped a few with his hand, hardly believing what he saw. Masses of gold, glittering gemstones, elaborate trinkets and tiny bottles of what he assumed were oil or perfume. Bakura was beside himself with excitement. "This has been here, all this time!" he whispered. "I don't know what I'll do with it, but right now I just…fuck me, wow!"

Marik couldn't help but smile, feeling his heart flutter. He'd never seen such a truly happy look on Bakura's face before, but he could definitely get used to seeing more of it. Bakura carefully put the treasures back into the pot and put the lid back on, then crossed the room to pick up the old box, giving it a tentative shake. "You know, I never had the chance to play this with anyone," he said thoughtfully. "You know what this is?"

Marik frowned at the box. "Looks like Senet."

"Exactly. Want to play?"

"Sure." Marik knew one of the many sets of rules, having had his own Senet board back in the tombs. "Can I suggest a variation, though?"

"What do you propose?"

"How about…every time one of us throws a three, we get to ask the other a question. Something that we don't know about them, and we have to answer honestly."

Bakura slid the bottom of the box out and began pulling out the game pieces, smirking. "Yeah, alright. Could be interesting."

"Don't you be putting any souls in the counting sticks, though. No cheating!"

"Ha. Like I can do that anymore. I totally would though, if I were still able." Bakura set the pieces on the board, five white egg-shaped pieces and five black discs, alternating them on the top row of the board. "And I would ask all the ridiculously awkward questions to make you squirm."

"I'm sure you'll do your very best to make me squirm anyway."

"Damn right. And I think we can make this even more interesting, if you're willing."

"Go on."

Bakura sniggered, pulling out a bottle of vodka from the pocket of his hoodie. No doubt he had filched it on the way round the market; Marik hadn't given him enough money to go about purchasing alcohol. "If we manage to get a piece off the board, we drink. Two drinks if we land a piece in the House of Waters."

 _Oh man, we are so fucked,_ Marik thought, but he couldn't help an excited peal of laughter bursting from his mouth. "Damn, Bakura, you've only been back a day and you're already trying to get me drunk! Okay, let's do it."

The two young men sat opposite each other on the chilly rock floor, cross-legged and alert, the Senet board resting between them. Bakura went first, reaching for the counting sticks and tossing them with a deft flick of the wrist. A wry smirk twisted his lips. "Three," he murmured, moving a white counter. "So, Marik…just how close  _are_ you and Ryou? Seems like there's some history between the two of you."

"I knew that would be the first thing you asked," Marik replied, picking up the sticks as it was his turn now. "We fooled around the first time he visited, but it was a one-time thing, and he started seeing Yugi not long afterwards."

"You weren't hurt by that?"

"That's two questions."

"Dammit."

Next, Marik threw a three, and moved a black piece. "Hmmm…I was told your hair was white 3,000 years ago. Why? I've never known Egyptians to have white or silver hair if they weren't also pretty old."

"Now that I don't know," Bakura replied without hesitation. "What I  _can_ tell you though, is that we were revered in Kul Elna as children of Khonsu, and we were treated with much respect. My sister's hair was darker than mine, but still much lighter than most people of the village. They used to say we were blessed by moonlight, and that darkness would never harm us, because our own innate light would chase away the shadows."

Bakura threw a two next, and Marik a five afterwards, with no more threes for several turns, so they lapsed into comfortable silence as they moved their pieces, letting them dance around each other as they overtook on multiple turns.

* * *

A strange sense of calm settled over Marik, something he hadn't felt for many years. It was something he hoped he would continue to feel for as long as Bakura was around, though he knew it wouldn't be long, if Bakura intended to leave Egypt soon. His heart gave a pang of loneliness, but he brushed it aside and with a smirk, moved his first piece off the board. Bakura handed the vodka over, and Marik poured some into the cap to fill it before swallowing. "That burns," he gasped, setting the bottle down.

"That's how you know it's good stuff," Bakura winked. He threw the sticks and got a three. "Question time. Why do you keep looking at me the way you do? You had the same look in your eye during Battle City."

 _Oh. I...this is_ not  _what I meant by asking questions! I thought we'd be going through favourite colours or stuff like that, not this!_

Marik's words stuck in his throat and he had to swallow hard, plucking up the courage to speak. "Because you're beautiful."

Now it was Bakura's turn to look a little flustered, and his deep brown eyes blinked rapidly before he shook his head and dropped it so his hair covered his face. "Don't be stupid."

"I'm not lying."

"Shut up and throw."

Marik chuckled. "You're adorable when you're embarrassed." He threw the sticks for five, and overtook Bakura's nearest piece to land on the House of Beauty. He then threw another five, moved his piece off the board, and took a shot of vodka. "We're going to be so drunk when we get back," he groaned.

"It was about time you and I had a drinking session anyway," Bakura sniggered, throwing the sticks. He got three, and he moved his piece over, landing in the House of Waters. "Ah, fuck."

"Drink up," Marik smirked, passing the vodka back. "Two, remember."

Bakura downed two shots with a shudder, and moved his piece back onto the House of Rebirth. "What is your happiest memory?" he asked.

Marik sat back and racked his brains, trying to think of what he could consider to be his happiest moment in life. Several came to him, but in the end, he knew which he would choose. "The day I came out of the tomb with Ishizu," he smiled. "I ran through the streets, and I was so excited to see the sun and smell the air. I saw a television for the first time, and I found a magazine with a motorcycle in it. I begged Ishizu to let me take the magazine back with me, and she allowed it so long as I hid it from Father." He pressed a hand to his heart, feeling the rapid quickening beneath his ribs. "Few things in life have made me feel as alive as the roar of a motorcycle engine does, and when Rishid bought me my first Harley for my 19th birthday, I cried without shame."

An odd expression crossed Bakura's face as he gazed at Marik, nibbling on his thumbnail again. "You were on a motorcycle when I first met you," he said quietly.

"Yup. Stole that one, but I always wanted one of my own."

"You still have that Harley, I take it."

"I do. She's a 2001 Dyna Wide Glide, purple and black. She's a beauty."

"I might have to hitch a ride. Never been on anything faster than a run-of-the-mill car."

Marik's face lit up. "I'd be happy to. Well, not right now, not after we've been drinking."

"Tomorrow, then."

"Sure thing."

Marik reached for the sticks, throwing a two. He ended up in the House of Waters, and took two shots before moving his piece into the nearest available space behind the House of Rebirth, which Bakura still occupied. Bakura then threw a four, moved a piece off the board, and took a shot.

By the time they were down to one piece left each on the board, both were hopelessly drunk. Marik couldn't get enough of the deep, ruddy flush that coloured Bakura's cheeks, nor his bright, spirited laughter as they traded their questions. They had all but forgotten about their rules, and now just asked away without restraint.

"First thing you ever stole from a tomb?"

"Oh, that would be…a cask of wine, a few bolts of cloth, and all the canopic jars, just for the fun of it."

"Bakura! How could they have passed into Aaru without their organs?"

"I didn't give a fuck! Besides, it had been a few years since they were entombed. They'd have gone over by then. I threw the organs to the jackals and kept the jars. They looked good in my little den."

 _"_ _Ya khabar abyad!_ You really were the worst."

"Had to make an example of someone. I  _was_ the Thief King after all." Bakura leaned back on one hand, using the other to drink vodka straight from the bottle. A trickle ran down his chin, and Marik had the oddest sensation to crawl over and lick it off him. "I want to know more about what happened with you and Ryou," Bakura said, a slur creeping into your voice. "Did you go all the way?"

"No," Marik replied with a grin, "but we got close. Ryou panicked and said he was too nervous."

"So what  _did_ you do?"

"Why are you so curious?"

"The kid was such a little prude when I inhabited his body, I'm just surprised he even knows what sex is. Go on, what did you do?"

"Um, I'm trying to remember…" Marik rubbed his chin, frowning. "Ah yeah. We sucked each other off, and I gave him a rim job, and then – "

"Hold up a sec, a rim job? What the fuck is that?"

"It's, um, when you, uh…dammit, forget I said anything."

Bakura leaned over the Senet board and grabbed Marik's shirt, yanking him close. "Fucking tell me already."

"Alright, I stuck my tongue in his ass. Happy?" Marik could feel Bakura's hot breath on his cheeks, and it sent a shock right down his spine.

"You…what?" Bakura blinked at him. "You're serious?"

"Yeah. He loved it, so it must feel pretty good."

"Interesting. Very…interesting." Bakura released Marik and sat back, reaching for the counting sticks. He threw them and turned a few over so they were at three, though he didn't move his piece. "So you're a virgin, then?"

"What sort of fucking question is that?"

"It's a question. Answer it."

Marik scowled. "No, I'm not a virgin. I had a couple of one-night stands last year." He snatched the vodka from Bakura and took a swig, barely registering it burning his throat now. "What about you?"

"You didn't roll a three."

"I don't care, answer my question."

"So demanding," laughed Bakura. "Honestly? I've never known an intimate touch. I kept whoever I inhabited far away from anything like that, and I wasn't exactly popular in Egypt."

"You've never even been kissed?"

"Nope."

"Want to change that?"

The flush on Bakura's cheeks grew deeper, but his eyes screamed lust as they connected with Marik's. "Fuck yes," he whispered.

With a sweep of his hand, Marik pushed the Senet board aside and they both leaned in at the same time. Bakura's mouth was hot and eager against his own, inexperienced and unsure, but Marik guided him without words. He pulled Bakura's frail body into his lap and ran his hands through his hair, pulling it free of its ponytail, and showed him how to use his tongue. Bakura picked up quickly and soon they were twining their tongues together, gasping and panting urgently. Marik felt dizzy with the overwhelming headiness and passion in their actions, but he couldn't get enough, he wanted more.

"Damn it, I…don't want…to stop…" Bakura gasped in between kisses.

"Then don't," Marik growled. Bakura's deep brown gaze became half lidded and he shoved at Marik's chest, knocking him backwards and falling down with him, attacking his lips again. "Ow!" Marik's head smacked hard against the stone floor and he rubbed the sore area, sitting up with a struggle. "Ow…I'm not opposed to you pushing me down, but at least do it on a soft surface," he laughed.

"Your bed then?" Bakura grinned down at him, still straddling his lap.

"Ryou's been sleeping in that!"

"Let's defile it then," Bakura murmured in a sultry tone, leaning down and kissing along Marik's neck, "and we won't tell him."

 _"_ _Ya amar,_ you have the evilest, most filthy mind."

"Are you complaining?"

"…No, I don't suppose I am." Marik shoved Bakura off him and stood, pulling the lid off the old clay pot and fumbling inside for the collar he had been admiring. "But if we're doing this, I'm wearing some of your stolen gold."

"Mm…you know the way to my heart, Ishtar," Bakura winked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **"Ya khabar abyad" - Arabic for one of the many ways to express surprise, pretty much "oh white news" or "oh my god"**
> 
> **Also, if anyone is interested in how Senet can be played, I used this video for my research, which explains it very nicely - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ikfRHqw46jE**


	5. Chapter 5

“You’re sure Ryou isn’t here?” Bakura asked breathlessly as they tumbled through the front door of the apartment. They’d been so caught up in making out against the door that it took Marik a few minutes to remember he needed to unlock the damn thing. In the several hours that had passed since their Senet game, they had sobered up, but their burning lust for each other was like inebriation in itself.

“Ryou, honey!” Marik shouted, grinning when there was no reply. “See? All good.”

“This is either going to be one of our best ideas ever, or the fucking worst,” Bakura muttered as Marik tugged insistently at his hoodie, wanting it off. He tossed the bulky cloth to one side, but when Marik began pulling at his t-shirt he drew back suddenly.

“What’s wrong?” Marik asked.

“I don’t…Marik, I don’t think…”

Bakura bit his lip and gestured to his arm, pinching what little skin he could and tugging. Marik suddenly understood. _He’s so very thin…I guess he doesn’t want me to see all of him right now._

“It’s okay,” Marik told Bakura gently, touching his cheek. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” Bakura scowled, “I just…I know I won’t be able to get into it if…”

“I know. Believe me, I know. I used to feel the same with my scars.” He took Bakura’s hand and started towards the bedroom. “I can still make you feel good with all your clothes on. Come on. I’ll show you.”

He led Bakura through, noting that, true to his lazy nature, he hadn’t bothered with making the bed after waking up. Ryou was immaculately clean and always made sure to smooth down the sheets. But Marik didn’t really care. He sat a curious Bakura down on the bed and dropped to his knees, peering under the bed with squinted eyes. “I’m sure it was down here…”

“What?” Bakura frowned.

“Aha, here we go.” Marik reached underneath and pulled out a small red bottle with a pleased expression. Bakura blinked at him, confused. “It’s lube, you idiot,” Marik sighed.

“Oh. Ohhh…of course.”

Marik set the bottle down on the mattress and straddled Bakura’s lap, nuzzling his neck softly. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Keep this up and I’d be crazy to say no,” Bakura murmured. He tilted his head to the side, giving Marik more access to the warm, creamy skin. He kissed, sucked and bit down gently, drawing quiet gasps from Bakura, pale hands slipping under Marik’s shirt and gripping caramel hips. He felt Marik’s hands fall to the waistband of his jeans, undoing the button and pulling down the zip, but didn’t push him away this time, instead moving to undo Marik’s grey cargo pants.

“Lift your hips a little,” Marik instructed, and Bakura did as he was bid, allowing Marik to pull his jeans down just enough to grant him access. Likewise, Bakura copied him, and Marik groaned softly at the touch of Bakura’s cool hand to his erection. Bakura had no idea what to do, but the simple strokes of his fingers up and down as they kissed were sufficient to make Marik go nearly out of his mind.

“This might get a bit messy,” Marik warned him through his groans, reaching for the lube.

“I can deal with that,” Bakura grinned. “I’m wearing your clothes anyway.”

“If you’re staying here till you get a passport, I’m teaching you to use the washing machine. Lube is a bitch to get out.”

“Shut the fuck up, Marik, and finish what you started.”

“Now who’s the demanding one?” Marik couldn’t resist a teasing jab as he laughed and popped the cap of the lube open, squeezing some into his hand. “Yes, it’s strawberry, before you ask. Not so good for actual sex, but it’ll do for this.” He coated himself first, then Bakura, and rocked his hips experimentally, bringing their burning needs together.

Bakura gasped, eyes squeezing shut. “Oh, holy fuck.” He grabbed onto Marik’s shoulders, hitching his hips up urgently.

“Is that good?” Marik breathed, increasing his pace.

“Fuck, fuck, damn it, faster - !”

Marik chuckled. “Take that as a yes.” He gripped Bakura’s cock more firmly, bringing Bakura’s hand onto his own. Their touches were slippery, desperate, fuelled by a primal need, and Bakura couldn’t hold back his soft cries of pleasure as they rocked together. “Mm, Bakura…” Marik sighed, leaning his head back, “I’m going to…make you come…”

“Yes, oh fuck, yes,” Bakura whispered. His muscles quivering with the exertion, he collapsed backwards onto the bed, Marik leaning down with him, and crushed their lips together as their frotting grew ever faster, harder.

“You’re so beautiful,” Marik gasped, pushing Bakura’s thighs further apart and all but ramming against him. Bakura just moaned in response, bucking his hips desperately. The friction between their sliding cocks was deliciously addicting and they both felt themselves approaching climax quickly. Being his first time and a little over-excited, Bakura came first, arching his back and biting down on Marik’s bottom lip hard.

Marik winced and squeezed his eyes shut, not much enjoying the pain, but then Bakura let go and swiftly flipped their positions so Marik was on his back.

“Bakura, what are you – oh, _gods!_ Don’t stop that!”

Bakura had shifted down and slid Marik’s cock into his mouth, disregarding the fact he was coated in sweat and a fair bit of Bakura’s own semen. The sickly sweetness of the strawberry lube disguised anything unpleasant, however, and he fervently bobbed his head back and forth, hoping that Marik would enjoy it. He was right and more; Marik was crying out in sheer joy, clutching at the bedclothes with one hand and tangling the other in Bakura’s hair.

“I’m coming, I’m coming – oh, fuck! Bakura!” Marik grabbed a pillow, shoving it over his face to muffle himself as he lost it completely and screamed out his completion.

Bakura drank Marik’s seed down eagerly, swallowing without hesitation, and pulled back, wiping his lips on the back of his hand. He laughed at the sight of Marik with a pillow over his face, hearing his breathless pants and groans from underneath it. “I didn’t know you went for autoerotic asphyxiation, Marik,” he grinned.

“Shut up,” Marik gasped. “I don’t think I can move. Holy fuck, how did you even know what to do? That was amazing.”

Bakura shrugged. “Lucky guess.”

Marik threw the pillow aside with a sigh and sat up, stripping off his clothes to leave him clad in just his boxers. “Told you it would get messy,” he smirked.

“Yeah…I think we both need showers again.”

“And I think I need a nap. My hips are sore and I’m worn out.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You go shower first. I’ll change the sheets.” Marik shot Bakura his best puppy-dog eyes. “Will you nap with me?”

“I’ve only been up for a few fucking hours,” Bakura scowled, folding his arms, but Marik continued to stare at him with his irresistible lavender orbs. “…Fine. But I’m stealing your bathrobe.”

He jumped off the bed, buttoned up his jeans, and grabbed the deep purple robe hanging off the wardrobe door before stalking out of the room. Marik heard the shower start up a few moments later, followed by low singing, and he couldn’t help but laugh. _Bakura sings in the shower!_

He began stripping the soiled bedsheets, losing himself in thought. _I…I love him_. _I must do_. _All this time I thought it was just some silly teenage crush I had, but now he’s been so close to me, and knowing he’ll be leaving soon, I…it hurts so much. He’s always been fucking selfish._

He thought back to Ryou’s words, that he was simply wasting his life out here in Luxor. It seemed he only stayed for his siblings, and even they were too busy these days to even see him often. He’d seen Ryou more than he’d seen Ishizu in the last six months, and that was saying something.

He was done. His fears of seeing Yugi and the others again paled before his desire to get out and live his life the way he wanted. And he wanted his life to be with Bakura.

_I’ve made up my mind._

Marik tossed the sheets to the floor, deciding to deal with them later. He quickly put fresh sheets on, then pulled his mobile out of his pocket and dialled a number.

“…Hello? Yeah, hi Steve, it’s Marik. Listen, I need you to do me a favour…those counterfeit cards we used to make…mm-hm. Yep. Yeah, do you think that would work with a passport? Awesome. I’ll text you the details later, okay? Brilliant. Thanks! Speak to you later. Bye.”

_Okay,_ this _is the last bad thing I’m doing. Damn it, how many times am I going to say that? I’m still a shitty little criminal at heart._

Bakura waltzed back in just as Marik finished smoothing out the clean sheets. “Don’t bother, they’ll be getting rumpled up again in a few minutes anyway,” he grinned. Marik resisted the temptation to laugh out loud at the sight of Bakura in a bathrobe with a towel turban on his head, and pushed past him to shower himself, pinching Bakura’s backside playfully on the way out.

When he returned to the bedroom ten minutes later, clad in a spare bathrobe, he found Bakura standing at the vanity table with a bottle of oil in his hands, frowning at it. “Why do you have so much of this stuff?” he asked.

“It’s for my back,” Marik explained, gesturing. “The scars still feel really tight, and they’ll crack and bleed if I don’t oil them up at least once a day. After showering is usually the best time to do it.”

“Fuck,” Bakura whispered. “How do you deal with it?”

Marik shrugged. “I’ve done it for a decade. I’m used to it now.”

“You shouldn’t have to be.” Bakura looked down at the oil again. “Have you put any more on just now?”

“No, not yet.”

“…Do you want me to do it?”

Marik’s mouth dropped open. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah, why not? I remember how awful some of my old scars used to feel.” Bakura raised a hand to his face, tracing under his eye. “I had one just here. I like to say I had a fight with a rock and the rock won, but in actuality, I set off a trap when I was robbing a tomb, and the fucking thing nearly blinded me. It always felt tight afterwards. If I’d have known oil would help, I’d have been slathering it on all the time.”

_The old Bakura, possessed by Zorc, would_ never _have offered to rub my back. And he probably wouldn’t have given me a spontaneous blowjob either. I can roll with this quite nicely._ Marik smiled and slipped his arms out of the sleeves of his robe, letting the top half fall down loosely around his waist. “Alright then. Where do you want me?”

“Just…I don’t know, sit on the edge of the bed and I’ll sit behind you.”

Marik’s heart felt like it might explode with happiness. He sat down, tying his hair up again so it would be out of the way. Bakura settled behind him, legs either side of Marik’s, and he poured a generous amount of oil directly over Marik’s shoulders, making him twitch at the cold sensation. “When did you get confident enough to start showing your scars?” Bakura asked him, starting to work the oil into his skin.

“A few months ago,” Marik replied, closing his eyes contentedly. Bakura wasn’t massaging as such, just rubbing the oil in, but his hands still felt immensely relaxing. “I just…got over it, I guess. They’re just a part of me, and I shouldn’t have to hide them.”

“Mm.” Bakura made a soft noise of agreement, drizzling a little more oil down Marik’s back. Soon his skin gleamed like polished copper, Bakura tracing his hands firmly up and down the valleys of twisted scar tissue like it was nothing he hadn’t seen before. If anything, he seemed captivated.

“You’ll be able to leave in a week,” Marik told Bakura softly. “I arranged for a passport to be made for you.”

Bakura’s hands stopped abruptly. “What?”

“You wanted to go to Domino, right? Well, now you can. I’ll sort you out a plane ticket later tonight.”

“Marik…” Bakura was struck dumb. “You did that for me?”

“Of course I did. I want you to be happy, and if that means getting you back to Japan, so be it.”

“Marik, I…” Bakura couldn’t put into words how he felt, so he settled for a few fluttering kisses down Marik’s neck instead. His hands slid upwards and across the tops of his shoulders, starting to work oil down his arms and chest.

Marik gasped and leaned his head back; _now_ Bakura was massaging. “Oh, wow, that feels amazing…”

Bakura sighed quietly. “What about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I guess you don’t want me to go, after you spent all that time and effort dragging me out of the Shadow Realm.”

“No, not really. That’s why I’ll be following you.”

Again, Bakura’s hands stopped. “Following me?”

“Mm-hm. I’m done with Luxor. I feel the same as you…Domino is just the best place to be. And I want to be with you, so even if it takes me a few months to tie up loose ends here, I’ll come back to you as soon as I possibly can.”

Bakura chuckled. “You’re going to make me blush, Ishtar.”

“I like it when you blush.”

“I look a dick. Turn around.”

Marik obeyed, and Bakura surprised him by pulling him in for a deep, slow kiss, letting his oil-slicked hands roam. When they pulled away, their eyes met, mahogany to lavender, and something soft and affectionate sparkled in Bakura’s gaze. “Gods, you make me so fucking mushy,” he muttered. “I can’t stand it. It’s not _me.”_

“You’re figuring out who the real you is now,” smiled Marik, “now Zorc isn’t a part of you. It’s okay to be a little mushy.” He reached out and stroked Bakura’s cheek, pressing his palm against the warm skin. “I’ve wanted to tell you how I feel for so long, but shouting at shadows was never going to get me anywhere…if Ryou hadn’t come up with this idea to bring you back, I don’t know what I would have done with myself.”

Bakura’s fingers closed gently around Marik’s wrist, stroking his pulse point with his thumb. “Tell me then,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “Tell me how you feel.”

“Bakura…I love you. I barely knew you a week during Battle City, but you were the first person who ever stood with me as an equal. That meant the world to me, and once you were gone…my life just felt like it was falling apart. I had Ryou to help me pick up the pieces, but it wasn’t the same. I needed _you.”_ Abandoning all restraint, Marik cupped both of Bakura’s cheeks and kissed him over and over, murmuring, “I love you,” in between each soft peck of his lips.

And Bakura let him, didn’t push him away, though he trembled in Marik’s hold like he was frightened, overwhelmed with the affection he hadn’t been subject to for thousands of years. He looked as though he might cry, but he refused to let his tears fall, instead redressing Marik’s top half and pulling him backwards on the bed, slipping under the covers with him. He was silent as he cradled Marik’s head to his chest and stroked his hair, craving the closeness he trusted only Marik to provide. He couldn’t say he loved him too, but it didn’t matter right now. For Marik, he was just happy that he’d gotten the weight off his own chest.

Wrapped up in their robes, and surrounded by soft pillows and blankets, the two young men drifted off to sleep in their intertwined embrace.  


	6. Chapter 6

Luxor International Airport heaved with activity, like a hive of angry bees, even at the ungodly hour Ryou and Marik had woken up at to see Ryou off safely back to Japan. Bakura had refused to go, in mute disbelief that such a time in the morning even existed, choosing to simply roll over and go back to sleep.

"Do you have everything, Ryou?"

"Yes, Marik, you've asked me a thousand times now."

"Well, the last time you came here, you somehow left behind one of your shoes and I didn't see you again for four months!"

"I'd forgotten about that," Ryou laughed, scratching his head. "I guess it's good that you keep checking up on me. No, but I definitely have everything, shoes and all."

Marik glanced up at the departure board, rubbing his sleepy eyes. "You should head for the terminal. Security checks were a pain in the neck last time."

"That's true." Ryou shouldered his laptop bag and held out his arms for a hug, which Marik fell into eagerly, hooking his fingers into Ryou's belt loops and hanging on tight. Ryou's hugs were always warm and welcome. "Take care of yourself, Marik," he murmured, nuzzling his ear. "If anything happens concerning the Ring, you'll let me know, won't you?"

"Not if I'm in a prison cell," Marik laughed weakly.

"You won't be. We didn't leave any traces. Really, the only way you'll get caught out now is if Bakura walks around outside with it in plain view, and he's not that stupid."

"No, he really  _is_ that stupid."

Ryou giggled into Marik's hair. "I'll have a room ready at home for him when he arrives next week. Any ideas on when you'll be coming too?"

"I don't know, honestly. Within the year. I need to be close to Ishizu while Rishid's away on his business trip."

"Of course. Hopefully you and Bakura won't be away from each other for too long."

Marik gave a little shiver, trembling in Ryou's arms, and the pale young man tightened his grip on him, uttering soft noises of comfort. "Hey now…I know it must be hard, letting him go when he's only just come back into your life…but it won't be forever, you know that, right?"

"Doesn't stop it sucking any less," Marik muttered bitterly.

"I know. I promise I'll look after him till you can take over." Ryou pressed a gentle kiss to both of Marik's cheeks and drew back, smiling. "I'd best go. Thank you for having me, as always."

"You're always welcome here, honey," Marik smiled back. "Go on, go now before you miss your flight. Call me when you get back."

"I will, I promise!" Ryou hurried off towards the terminal, waving. "Bye, Marik! I'll miss you!"

Marik raised his hand in farewell, waving till Ryou was out of sight beyond the heaving crowd. Only then did he turn on his heel and make for the airport exit. His apartment was around an hour and a half's walk away, but he felt he could use the time to think over his options. So, hands deep in his pockets and wishing for his warm bed, he started off for home.

He could go with Bakura next week; that was the first option. Ryou would be happy to put him up in one of his spare rooms for a while until he found his own place. That way, he could be with Bakura faster.

Alas, the wellbeing of the other members of his family had to come before the man who'd tumbled back into his life less than 72 hours prior.

Ishizu was pregnant with her first child, and currently alone at home, as Rishid had been abroad in America for the last two months. Risking potential uproar, they had married not long after the Pharaoh's departure for the afterlife, realising that nothing but their forced familial bonds had kept them from admitting their true feelings for one another. To Marik, it made no difference, simply glad that they were happy, and now he could call Rishid his brother by marriage rather than adoption into a fucked up, underground cult.

Ishizu was strong, and highly independent, so she rarely called on Marik for anything, but with her due to go into labour any day now, he wanted to be on hand for her, and, depending on how she was coping afterwards, remain close by until Rishid came home. As it stood, they didn't know when that would be yet.

_I could be here for months without Bakura._

The thought made him deeply miserable. He hadn't intended to get attached so quickly, but with Bakura clearly reciprocating his feelings, it had been almost impossible not to.

Waking up in his arms after their passionate session the day before had been heaven on earth for him, and he refused to let Bakura out of bed, clinging to him and smothering him in kisses till he gave in and allowed himself to be dragged back under the covers for a lengthy, intense make-out until Ryou came back to the apartment. It was rather obvious he had gone out for the day to give them some time alone, and he had left them to it for a while, but whenever Ryou was around, Bakura wanted to play video games with him, so Bakura soon jumped out of bed to attempt to beat him at Tekken, leaving Marik to sigh and get dressed.

_Really, this all depends on how much Ishizu needs me. I don't want to leave her on her own with a new baby…not that I would remotely know what to do with a small, wailing thing, but I have to do my best._

Bakura's soft snores met his ears when he finally made it home, but he stirred and awoke when Marik slipped quietly into the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed to tug his clothes off. He made to find something loose and comfortable to change into, but Bakura's gentle grip on his wrist stopped him. "You don't have to do that," he murmured sleepily.

"I don't want to make you self-conscious," Marik replied, turning and laying a kiss on Bakura's cheek.

"That's my problem, not yours. Get in bed, Marik."

"If you insist." Marik couldn't help a little smile forming as he slipped under the covers with Bakura, who immediately curled up to his side, sighing. His little puffs of breath tickled Marik's ear pleasantly, a constant reminder that he was here, he was alive, and he wanted their closeness as much as Marik did. He rolled over and gathered Bakura into his arms, kissing him lovingly. "I'm going to miss you so damn much when you go," he whispered.

"I know," Bakura replied, already half asleep again. "You understand though, right?"

"Yeah, I do."

"You'll be right behind me?"

"Forever."

Bakura smiled, nuzzling Marik's shoulder. "You're so fucking soppy, Marik."

"Only for you."

"And Ryou. You're such a slut for him."

"I am not!"

"Pfft, you keep telling yourself that."

"Fuck you."

"In due time. Let me sleep for now."

Marik suppressed a chuckle as he kissed Bakura's forehead and rolled over again, facing away from him. Bakura slung an arm over Marik's waist and yanked him backwards a few inches, burying his face in sandy hair and ostentatiously assuming the position of big spoon. The flood of warmth from Bakura's chest against Marik's scarred back felt wonderful, and Marik couldn't hide his sigh of bliss, snuggling down and drifting off to sleep in ultimate comfort.

Near midday, when they both felt adequately rested enough to function, Marik suggested the motorcycle ride they had discussed back in Kul Elna.

Bakura's eyes lit up at the thought. "Fuck yes," he grinned. "I've been looking forward to that ever since."

"Awesome. I've got a spare helmet you can borrow," Marik replied. He was perched sideways on Bakura's lap, one arm round his shoulders and the other resting on the kitchen table, hand wrapped around his third mug of coffee. "No leathers though…I kind of suck at wearing protectives."

Bakura snorted. "Like you'd wear leather anyway."

"True, but anyway, where's the fun if there's no risk?"

"You're thinking my style," Bakura replied, laughing. He leaned forward, nosing his way through Marik's hair till he reached his neck, nuzzling it affectionately. "Got anywhere in mind? I'm not so familiar with the surrounding areas anymore."

"How about somewhere further afield? There's a lovely city called Aswan a few hours down the Nile. The Coptic Church there really is something to behold."

"Sure thing."

"Okay. Just let me finish this coffee and we'll go."

"Finish it somewhere that isn't sat on me, you're bloody heavy." Bakura tipped Marik off with a little shove. "I'm the one who's skin and bone here."

"Pfft, you're still comfy." Marik pouted at him reproachfully. Bakura rolled his eyes, but a little smile played around his lips as he stood up to go and find his shoes. Marik knocked back the last of his coffee and began the search for his spare helmet, finding it shoved somehow down the back of the sofa.

_Being with him is such bliss. Gods, I'm so torn. In the short space of time that he's been here, I've felt complete. I don't want him to go…but I can't go with him, not yet._

"Marik?" Bakura lingered in the doorway, arms folded over his chest and hair tied back in a loose braid to keep it out of his face while they were riding. "You've spaced out."

"Oh…sorry. Here you go!" Marik held the helmet out to Bakura. "Should fit you alright."

Bakura slipped it on and rapped his knuckles against the top. "I feel like an idiot."

"Better than cracking your head open, and then you'd feel dead."

Marik kept his Harley under a sheet round the back of the apartment block, where there were private parking spaces. Bakura just raised an eyebrow at it when uncovered, clearly not having the same passion for them that Marik did, but the minute he was seated on the back and holding onto Marik's waist to keep from flying off, he was laughing and shouting pleased curses over the roaring wind.

"Holy fuck, Marik! How could  _anybody_  ever get tired of this?! This is fucking  _amazing!"_

"I knew you'd like it!" Marik called out over his shoulder. "Hold on tight, gorgeous! I'm kicking it up a notch!"

The expertise with which Marik wove through traffic at high speed reminded Bakura of the ancient dance rituals the women of his village would perform during festivals and celebrations, and he couldn't figure out if the roads were made for Marik, or if he were made for the roads. Either way, it was clear that there was nowhere else Marik would rather be; pure unadulterated joy radiated from him with every second they rode.

Soon they found themselves speeding down the desert road connecting Cairo and Aswan. Lush greenery stretched out endlessly on their right; on their left, the sparkling waters of the Nile and the rugged landscape of the Valley of the Kings, and beyond that, Kul Elna and Luxor. Beyond the horizon was road and more road, and it seemed like they had been riding forever, but Bakura was in his element as much as Marik was, barely able to contain his excitement, and knew he would never tire of this exhilaration.

_Is this how life should be?_ Bakura thought to himself, clinging onto Marik a little tighter.  _Enjoyable? Thrilling? I might fall off the back of this damn thing any minute, but I don't even care. This is…perfect._

"You alright back there?" Marik called.

"Never better!" Bakura replied.

_Yeah...definitely perfect._

They really could have ridden forever, just so long as Bakura could hold onto Marik for the duration.

* * *

By the time Ryou dragged himself through his front door, he was exhausted. The flight had been 18 hours, stopping in Cairo, then Copenhagen before touching down in Tokyo, then he had to travel back to Domino by a train that was incredibly delayed. Nearly 24 hours later, he was ready to drop, and indeed he did, not even bothering to put away his luggage before he found himself upstairs and face-first on his bed, asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Scraping and clattering woke Ryou in the morning, and the sound of lively humming. A sleepy smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he pulled himself out of bed and practically collapsed into the shower, wanting to at least appear presentable even if he had been smacked round the face by jet lag.

Fifteen minutes, later, dried and dressed, he went downstairs, finding his suitcases neatly tidied away under the stairs and his laptop charging on the sofa. The humming continued from the kitchen, a sound that represented the epitome of all that Ryou's life had become; love, joy, a sense of deep contentment that he hoped nothing would ever take from him again.

"Good morning, sleepyhead!" Yugi beamed, walking through to the living room with two mugs of tea, which he set down beside the sofa. Ryou smiled and held his arms out, bringing Yugi in for a tight embrace and kissing him fervently. The King of Games was warm, soft, so incredibly loving, overflowing with an affection Ryou never tired of, but most of all, he was  _his,_ entirely his.

"I missed you," Yugi murmured against Ryou's lips. He didn't have to crane up to reach Ryou now; in their final year of high school there had been almost a ten-inch height difference between them, but Ryou hadn't grown any further since then, whereas Yugi now stood at a modest five feet seven, and merely had to tilt his head a little to reach his beloved's addictive mouth.

"I missed you too," Ryou whispered, stroking Yugi's cheek. "You didn't have to come and tidy the place up. I could have done that."

"I wanted to let you sleep," Yugi replied. "I figured you'd settle back in a little better if you could move a metre in all directions without tripping over a suitcase. Why do you have so much  _stuff?_ You didn't go shopping every day with Marik again, did you?"

Ryou laughed, scratching his head. "Not  _every_ day."

"He's such a bad influence on you," Yugi grinned. He gave Ryou's lips another quick kiss and gestured to the sofa. Ryou flopped down onto it with a yawn and reached for one of the mugs of tea, taking a deep swallow of the burning hot liquid and sighing. "Jeez, Ryou, I will never understand you and your asbestos throat," Yugi laughed as he curled up beside Ryou and laid his head on his shoulder.

"It's the Englishman in me," Ryou replied, chuckling. He passed the other mug over to Yugi, and they sat in happy silence, enjoying their drinks.

Ryou lived on his own. His father still popped in on very rare occasions, and Yugi was there so often he might as well move in, but for the time being he remained with his grandfather and mother at the game shop. The young men had discussed moving in together, but their own personal lives kept getting railroaded by work or some other important thing that needed handling first.

Ryou finished his tea within two minutes, and got up to make another. When he came back, they switched positions, Ryou leaning on Yugi and snuggling close with a smile. "How's Marik?" Yugi asked. There was a hint of tentativeness in his voice.

"Good," Ryou replied. "He's quite nervous over the prospect of becoming an uncle soon."

"I can imagine. Makes me glad I don't have siblings. I'm not cut out for small children."

"You were five feet tall not long ago, love, so don't even start on small children."

"True," Yugi smiled, but it looked forced.

"Yugi, love? What's wrong?"

"Ah, um…" Yugi sat up properly and swivelled to face Ryou, taking his free hand in both his own. "Have you seen the news recently?"

"No, Marik doesn't often have the TV on unless he's playing games. Why?"

"Oh, because, well…there was a break-in at the museum in Cairo, and the Millennium Items were targeted. The Ring was taken and a fake left in its place." Yugi squeezed Ryou's hand. "I'm really sorry to have to tell you, and I know you'd probably rather not associate yourself with that accursed thing ever again, but – "

"Yugi…if I may…" Ryou felt the bottom of his stomach practically drop out with nerves. "I must confess something to you…"

But at that moment, Ryou's phone started ringing, and he held a finger up to Yugi so he could answer it, putting it on loudspeaker. "Oh, hi, Marik."

"Ryou! You said you'd call me when you got back!" came Marik's accusing tone on the other end of the line.

"Sorry…I was so tired, I fell asleep as soon as I came in."

_There's no way I'm doing this alone. Marik has to face up to Yugi sooner or later, so he might as well help me confess to what we did._

"I was worried," Marik sighed. "Please keep in touch with me next time, honey."

Yugi raised an eyebrow. "Honey?" he laughed.

Marik spluttered in shock. "Holy crap, am I on loudspeaker? Who's that?"

"Hello, Marik!" Yugi chirped. "Long time no speak! Take a guess."

There was silence for a few moments. Then Marik's voice returned, a little shaky. "H-Hi, Yugi. Um…"

"Calm down, Marik," Ryou smiled, "Yugi knows you're a horrendous flirt."

"Did I call at a bad time?"

"No, the best, in fact. We have something to tell Yugi, don't we?"

"We?! Why are you dragging me into this?!"

"Because we did it together?"

Yugi's amethyst eyes darted between the phone and Ryou nervously. "Am I about to find out you've been cheating on me, Ryou?"

"No!" both Ryou and Marik shouted at the same time. "No, nothing like that – " Marik began.

" – But we did kind of…steal the Millennium Ring for ourselves," Ryou finished.

Yugi just blinked at Ryou, not quite taking in what he said. Then his mouth dropped open. "You did  _what?!"_ he hissed. "You did fucking  _what?!"_

"I am so not dealing with this," Marik groaned. "Ryou, I love you, but I don't much like being part of your lover's quarrel."

"Stay on the line or I swear on Atem's soul, I will spam you with 1870s cat memes and Roflcopter over MSN. And every single one of my replies will be in leet speak."

"…You are such a git. Fine."

"Will one of you actually explain to me what's going on?!" Yugi exploded.

And so, the long and drawn-out process of confessing their crime to Yugi began. He sat in silence, sipping his tea with a stoic expression, but he was completely unreadable throughout. Yugi was by no means an unreasonable man, but Atem's departure had rendered him a little fragile and he was prone to outbursts of emotion from time to time, so Ryou was concerned he might get very angry. But the only flicker that crossed his face was a slight twitch of the eyebrow towards the end of their story.

"So…" Yugi said quietly, after they had finished explaining, "you made this plan for weeks without telling me, flew out to Egypt, broke into the museum, hacked into the system, and _stole the Millennium Ring?_ For what? To bring back a 3,000-year-old spirit that made our lives hell for years? Marik, I would have expected it of you, but Ryou? I don't know what to say. Did you even manage to bring him back?"

Marik sighed gently.  _"Taeal huna, ya amar."_

_"_ _Bialtabe la!"_ came the rough growl on Marik's end, and Yugi sucked in a breath, eyes widening. Even when speaking Arabic, the voice was unmistakeable.

"Thief King?" Yugi asked quietly. "Is that you?"

"…Yes." There was a scuffling sound and an annoyed protest from Marik, which Ryou took to mean that Bakura had barged his way into the conversation by sitting on his lover. "And just for the record, I still hate you."

"The feeling is mutual, believe me," Yugi muttered, tapping his fingers irritably on his mug.

"Well, we'd better get used to each other, because I'm moving in with your boyfriend in a week."

"And you were going to tell me this…when?" Yugi asked Ryou.

Ryou groaned. "This is not going how I imagined."

"Relax," Bakura laughed, "it's only till I get my own place, and then I'll be out of your stupid spiky hair. Yes, Ryou and Marik plotted behind your back, stole my Ring and dragged me out of the Shadow Realm, and really, can you blame them? I am amazing, after all."

"Shut up, Bakura, you self-absorbed prat," Marik hissed.

"Fuck you, Ishtar."

Yugi shook his head. "He hasn't changed at all, has he?"

"Well…about that…" Ryou laughed nervously.

Bakura gave a deep warning growl, then spoke in English, "Ryou, whatever it is you're going to tell your fuck buddy about me, I don't need to hear it, so we're going…right…about…now. See you next week." Bakura hung up the phone with a  _click._

"What did he say?" Yugi asked, unable to understand the language. "Ryou? For the love of Osiris, tell me what's going on. I am  _not_ impressed by the amount you've been hiding from me."

"I'm sorry," Ryou sighed, twisting his hands in front of him. "I thought you'd get upset, so I didn't want to tell you until afterwards."

"I'm not upset…I'm just disappointed that you didn't feel you could trust me." Yugi reached out and took Ryou's hands again, squeezing them. "Okay, I'm  _very_ upset that you broke into the museum, but I'm not going to chastise you further for it, I'm not your father. You had your reasons, and I don't agree with them, but you did what you thought was right for Marik, and I know he means a lot to you. You'd bend over backwards for him if you were flexible enough."

"So…I'm not going to wind up single by the end of the day?" Ryou asked.

"No," chuckled Yugi.

"And…you're not bothered by us taking the Ring and not the Puzzle as well?"

The sudden look of surprise Yugi gave Ryou was like a burst of refreshment after the awkwardness they'd all just had to endure. He blinked his huge bush-baby eyes at his lover, mouth slightly open. "What? No, of course not. Atem's time here is done. He's earned his rest, and I've moved on. Bakura is an entirely different story though. He'll want to stick around and cause mischief for all eternity. But tell me what's changed about him. I'm interested now."

"Well, Marik didn't want to bring him back just so they could be friends, if you catch my drift."

"I had an inkling," Yugi murmured. "Marik was very close to him. Are they a couple now?"

"Not exactly. I guess so, if you had to say yes or no for definite. I don't think even they know what they are. But one thing is for sure, I have never seen Marik this happy until now." Ryou shuffled closer to Yugi, situating himself in his lap, straddling him and curling in close. Yugi wrapped his arms around Ryou and rested his head on his chest, closing his eyes and listening to his heart beating. Being pressed up so close to each other quickly invoked their flames of passion after being apart for a week, though neither moved just yet despite the stirring in their trousers.

"And Bakura, he's…softened," Ryou continued. "He's free of Zorc and all the horrible guilt and pain he carried around for thousands of years. He's free now, Yugi. He really won't be ruining things for us anytime soon. I made my peace with him long ago, and now he just wants to enjoy his life. Will you give him a chance?"

Yugi was quiet for a time, stroking Ryou's hip absently. Then he nodded ever so slightly, but Ryou felt it, and with it, the soaring of his heart. He jumped up, grinning broadly, and pulled Yugi with him. "So, I believe I owe you a proper apology, and I'd like to do that the best way I know how."

"Oh? Enlighten me."

"Well, it involves our bed and a handful of new toys I bought in Luxor…"

"Say no more. I am making "I am disappointed in you" sex the new angry sex. Now get your ass upstairs."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Rough translation -  
>  "Taeal huna, ya amar - " Come here, my moon.  
> "Bialtabe la! - " Absolutely not!**


	7. Chapter 7

Marik was miserable beyond belief, and not even keeping himself distracted by tidying Ishizu’s apartment was helping. It didn’t matter what he did, everything reminded him of Bakura, who had left for Japan a week prior, as he said he would.

He felt tears sting his eyes as he recalled their farewell; his hands digging into Bakura’s shirt and head buried in his chest, sniffling and sobbing like they would never see each other again. Bakura had been his usual self, if a little more withdrawn, wrapping his arms around him and telling him to stop being silly, it wouldn’t be long till Marik could join him. “You’ll wait for me?” Marik had whispered anxiously. “You won’t start seeing anyone else, will you?”

Bakura had laughed at that. “Nobody but you could tolerate me for more than five minutes. I’ll wait for you. I promise.” A gentle kiss was pressed to Marik’s lips. “Now stop crying. I don’t want you crying for me, alright? We’ll keep in touch and everything will be fine.”

_I won’t cry. I won’t. I promised him I wouldn’t._ Marik scrubbed his eyes with a scowl and stalked to the kitchen.

The front door banged open and Ishizu trailed into the apartment, lowering the loose silk scarf covering her hair to rest on her shoulders. Her pregnancy was overdue now and she looked just about ready to explode, but still radiated a wonderful sense of happiness and contentment. “Hello, Marik!” she called. “I didn’t expect to see you here today. Your motorcycle isn't outside.”

“I walked,” Marik replied, his back to Ishizu as he washed up in the kitchen. “I thought I’d let myself in and tidy the place up while you were at work.”

“You make it sound like I’m messy,” she laughed, settling herself down onto the sofa and cradling her bump.

“Have you heard from Rishid?”

“Not today. I imagine he’ll call later tonight.”

Marik finished washing up, dried his hands and brought a mug of karkady tea through for Ishizu before dropping down into the armchair Rishid usually sat in. “How are you feeling today?” he asked her. “What has your midwife said about you being so overdue?”

Ishizu sipped her tea with a thoughtful expression. “She isn’t concerned,” she replied. “I’ve been having some cramping pains today, so we could be looking at the new arrival being here very soon.”

“It’ll be nice to finally be able to see your feet again.”

“Yes, and I won’t have to ask you to paint my toenails for me,” Ishizu laughed.

“Hey, any excuse to play with makeup is a positive in my book.”

“And speaking of makeup…Marik, your kohl is all smudged.” Ishizu set her mug aside with a small frown as she gestured towards her brother’s face. “Have you been crying?”

“Trying not to,” he admitted, shrugging.

“What’s wrong?”

Marik hadn’t told Ishizu about Bakura yet. She wasn’t likely to flip out at the news, but given their history, he was a little nervous about how she would react and didn’t much fancy sending her into labour with his admission. But he couldn’t keep it from her much longer if he was going to be moving away at the first available opportunity. So he sighed, fidgeting and playing with his hair, trying to pluck up the courage to tell her. He would keep the business with the Ring firmly out of it, though. He was never going to admit that.

“Sister, I’ve started seeing someone,” he finally said, “since a few weeks ago.”

Ishizu’s perfectly threaded eyebrows rose up sharply in surprise. “Really?” she gasped. “Oh, Marik, that’s wonderful. I’ve been wondering when you might start to settle down. When do we get to meet him?”

It had only been recently that Marik had admitted his sexuality to his siblings. Ishizu had been a little surprised, while Rishid had just laughed, asking Ishizu how she hadn’t figured it out sooner from the number of times Marik had “borrowed” her makeup, and of course, _that_ lavender belly shirt. Marik didn’t know whether to be amused or offended that it was apparently that obvious to everyone but his sister.

“You, uh…you’ve already met him,” Marik murmured.

“Come again?”

“You already know him.”

“It isn’t Ryou, is it? I thought he was with Yugi?”

“Close, but not quite.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Marik,” Ishizu said, reaching for her mug again. “The only person who is even remotely like Ryou is the spirit that…was…oh.”

Her blue eyes fixed firmly on Marik, suddenly serious. “Marik, has the Spirit of the Ring returned to the mortal world?”

“Uh, yep. That’s right. In his own body and everything.”

“Oh, my goodness…then…it was right…”

“Hm?”

Ishizu ran a hand through her hair, sighing. “Just before I gave the Millennium Necklace to the Pharaoh, I saw one last vision. Just one. I couldn’t quite make out everything I saw, but what I did see clearly was you and the Spirit. You were older, he was kissing you, and you both looked so happy.” She pulled her legs up to the side, clenching her free hand over her swollen stomach. “I thought it must be nonsense at first, but the Necklace had never lied to me.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Which means that you must have been the one to take the Millennium Ring from the museum. There’s no other explanation for the Spirit’s sudden reappearance.”

“His name is Bakura,” Marik said smoothly, skating over Ishizu’s (correct) accusation.

“Marik.”

“Yeah…alright, it was me. Are you going to turn me in?”

Ishizu shook her head. “No. I think you’ve had your fill of incarceration to last you several lifetimes. This was fate. Nobody could have stopped it from happening.”

Marik was rather surprised at his sister’s reaction. She was always calm, always mature and level-headed, but Bakura had frightened her somewhat back in the day, so to see her react to his revelation with just a slight narrowing of the eyes was unexpected. Nevertheless, she didn’t look 100% impressed, and it didn’t help Marik’s nerves any, so he jumped up to make more tea.

When he returned, Ishizu was rubbing her bump, eyes closed and breathing heavily. “Are you okay, Sister?” he asked worriedly. “Is the baby hurting you?”

“A little,” she said through gritted teeth. “They may be arriving quicker than I anticipated.”

“Oh, lord help us.”

“Stay calm, Marik. This is what my body is designed to do.” She held her free hand out for one of the mugs Marik held, and he passed it over to her, sitting down beside her instead of in the armchair, sipping his own drink. After a few moments, Ishizu relaxed and leaned back, pain-free for now. “Let’s go back to Bakura,” she said. “What about him is making you cry? In fact, don’t answer that…I remember his attitude all too well.”

“No, it’s not that,” Marik replied softly. “He’s changed so much, Sister. You wouldn’t believe it if you saw him now. But that’s the thing…you can’t, because he’s not here. He flew back to Japan a week ago to stay with Ryou. He couldn’t stay here…after tying up his loose ends in Kul Elna, it was too painful for him to stick around. I’m planning to go out there too, to move there with him, but I wanted to be here with you while Rishid’s away.”

“Oh, you sweet thing, Marik.” Ishizu patted his hand sympathetically. “You didn’t have to do that. You know I can handle this…but I do appreciate your consideration. Truth be told, it would be nice if you were here for just a little while, if only to spend some time with your new niece or nephew, but I won’t stop you if you want to hop on the next plane to Japan. You always did seem very much at home in Domino City.”

“You really wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all.”

“I’m going to stay here for at least a few weeks, though.”

“You really are sweet, Brother – ngh!” Ishizu’s eyes suddenly screwed shut and she hunched inwards, hands trembling around her mug.

Marik gasped and pressed his hands to her stomach, feeling the muscles tightening. “You’re contracting,” he murmured. “Should I call your midwife?”

“N-No.” Ishizu shook her head, panting. “Not yet.”

“Ishizu – ”

“Marik…listen…I want to stay here.” She tried to speak as levelly as she could, breathing hard through the contraction. “I don’t…I don’t need the midwife yet. Not until I feel I need the extra support.”

Marik frowned, but he nodded. He knew Ishizu wished to have the baby in the comfort of her own home. Her pregnancy had been plain sailing and low-risk, so there was no objection from her healthcare practitioners. There was no way he could leave her now; he wanted to stay here, keep her comfortable. It wasn’t like he’d anticipated being her birth partner, but somehow he’d just ended up planning how he would help her early on in the pregnancy. “Rest up as much as you can,” he told her firmly. “Maybe take a bath, then lie down. I’ll get everything ready that you need.”

The contraction had subsided now, and Ishizu nodded slowly, smiling. “That sounds ideal. I’ll do that. Thank you, Marik. Maybe I shouldn’t rely on myself for everything all the time; you’ve matured so much.”

* * *

 

Six hours later, Ishizu’s labour had progressed rapidly, and Marik had called her midwife in. Egypt’s healthcare system was good, but as far as traditional maternity services went in a country that valued modesty, all hell usually broke loose if men were present while a woman delivered, and Ishizu staunchly refused to have her husband and brother forbidden from attending if they wished, so she had chosen a foreign midwife, an English girl a few years older than Marik, called Maribel. She was progressive, open to suggestion and very sweet. “Ishizu is very lucky to have you,” she told Marik as she jotted down in her notebook. “Most young men here would be completely averse to being around a labouring woman, and that’s _if_ they’re allowed near.”

“We’re not the most conventional of Egyptians,” Marik laughed.

“You’re not her husband, are you?”

“Younger brother. Husband is away on a business trip.”

“What a fantastic brother you are, Marik,” Maribel smiled. She put her notes aside and folded her hands in her lap, peering through to the bedroom, where Ishizu sat quietly in a black nightdress, eyes closed. She looked as if she were meditating, breathing through the discomfort of her contractions. Marik marvelled at how well she was holding herself together, unable to imagine the pain she must be in and knowing it was only going to get worse, but she was adamant that she wanted to deliver naturally with no intervention. “You feeling alright, Ishizu?” Maribel called through. Her Arabic was near flawless.

“I’m starting to feel like I need to push,” Ishizu replied, her voice slightly strained.

“Okay, should I come and examine you, see if you’ve dilated?”

“Yes, please.”

Maribel held up a finger to Marik, and disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door to give Ishizu some privacy. He located his mobile and strode through to the kitchen, dialling Ryou’s number. It would be early in Domino, but he wanted to give him and Bakura an update.

“Hey,” Bakura’s voice came through. Evidently he had got to the phone before Ryou did.

“Morning, gorgeous,” Marik replied, smiling. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No. I’ve been up all night.”

“What?”

“Monster World campaigns don’t build themselves, you know.”

“You fucking idiot, go to bed!”

“Nah. Well, maybe in a few hours. What’s up?”

“I just thought I’d let you guys know that Ishizu’s gone into labour. Baby’s going to be here in a few hours, by the look of things.”

Bakura exhaled a shaky breath. “Scary. How is she?”

“Good. She’s handling this amazingly.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything else from your sister, she’s like a damn pillar of rock. And you?”

“I’m alright.” Marik made tea, falling silent for a time. When the kettle whistled, he sighed. “I miss you.”

Bakura was quiet on the other end; all Marik could hear was Ryou clattering about in the games room, tidying away what he presumed were their Monster World supplies after pulling an all-nighter of crafting. Then Bakura gave a tiny groan. “Yeah, it’s not too great over here without you.”

“Can you just be soppy once in your life and tell me you miss me too?”

“Can I fuck.”

“Bakura, it wouldn’t kill you.”

Bakura grumbled irritably. “…I miss you too.”

Marik smiled. “Not long now, _ya amar._ I’ve spoken to Ishizu. I’ll fly out in a few weeks.”

“Thank fuck for that. Yugi stays here for days at a time and he’s so sickening, it drives me up the wall. The sooner I can move out of here, the better. Ryou’s fine, but Yugi is too much.”

“So we’re totally getting ourselves a bachelor pad and moving in together, right?”

“Just so long as you don’t mind me cluttering up the place with my nerdy shit,” Bakura chuckled.

“Fuck, I’d put up anything just to be with you, Kura.”

“You’re nuts.”

“Yep.”

A pained groan sounded from Ishizu’s room and Marik winced. “I’d better go. I’ll update you later, okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Ryou’s probably having a bitch fit that I won’t give his phone back, anyway. Speak later.”

As Bakura put the phone down, Maribel shouted out, “Marik! You won’t want to miss this! The baby’s head is crowning already!”

_Holy crap, that was fast!_

Marik didn’t even have time to lament over how much he missed Bakura before he was sprinting to the bedroom and throwing the door open, rushing to Ishizu’s side. She knelt by the bed, panting, her brow drenched in sweat, but she appeared to be in control and calm. “Just breathe deeply, Ishizu,” Maribel told her gently, which would have had a softer effect had she not been on her hands and knees to peer between Ishizu’s parted legs. “Let your body do what it wants to do…you’ve got this, okay? You’re doing so well.”

Ishizu grabbed Marik’s hand, squeezing tightly. He stroked her hair back from her face with his free hand and murmured soft words of encouragement, not sure if it was the right thing to do, but it was all he could think of to soothe her pain. After the horrific torture he himself had been through, he couldn’t stand to see any of his family suffer. The only thing that was getting him through this was remembering the fulfilling reward that would come at the end.

“Baby’s head is out,” Maribel said, popping up her head with a wide smile. “Ishizu, if you feel the need to push now, make it little and gentle, okay? We should have shoulders coming through soon.”

Ishizu nodded, her brow pressed against Marik’s knee from his position on the bed. “Little and gentle…little and gentle…” she whispered, over and over, like a mantra or prayer. Not once had she screamed like in the horror stories Marik had heard about babies being born. He couldn’t help but be utterly amazed by her strength, yet at the same time he was thankful he would never be one to put a woman in such a painful position.

A slew of low curses suddenly flew from Ishizu’s lips and she groaned, squeezing Marik’s hand so tight he felt his fingers lose sensation. “Here come the shoulders!” Maribel trilled. “And the rest of the body is coming right about… _now!_ Ishizu, here’s your baby!”

_“Alhamdulillah,”_ Ishizu sighed, slumping onto Marik with exhaustion evident in every fibre of her being, but as the whimpering infant was passed through her legs and settled onto her chest, at that moment, she looked the proudest, most beautiful woman in the world.

“Well done,” Marik whispered, gazing down in wonder at the rather messy bundle in Ishizu’s arms. Blood and vernix coated the baby, but Maribel passed a towel over and Marik helped clean it up gently. “Sister, you were amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

Ishizu’s eyes sparkled as she looked from her baby to her brother. “A girl,” she said softly. “You have a niece, Marik.”

_I’m an uncle! I have a niece! Gods, I’m so happy and proud beyond belief._

“Congratulations,” Maribel said, smiling widely. She held up a little pair of scissors to Marik. “Marik, do you want to cut the cord?”

Marik looked down at Ishizu questioningly, and she nodded. With a slightly shaking hand, he took the scissors and Maribel showed him where to cut, assuring him that his niece wouldn’t feel a thing. She began to cry heartily the minute the cord was cut and he jumped back, startled, but Ishizu laughed wearily at his reaction as she tugged at the neckline of her nightdress and drew her daughter to her breast. “She’s just a little shocked at coming out into the world, don’t worry,” Maribel explained. “You’ve got a very important job now, Marik, being an uncle. I think in Ishizu’s capable hands, you’ll do just fine.”

Only a few years ago, Marik couldn’t have been near this kind of situation. The blood, the sheer rawness of the moment, the pain – it would have been enough to send him into dissociative meltdown. But none of that factored into anything now. All he felt was love, pride, joy. He wept freely as he settled beside Ishizu and stroked his niece’s head, watching her nurse. “She’s beautiful,” he whispered. “She looks so much like you.”

“She has her father’s nose and eyes,” Ishizu smiled. Sighing heavily, she leaned her head against Marik’s. “I’m a mother,” she said quietly, more to herself than anyone else. “Can you believe it, Marik? I’m a mother.”

“I can believe it,” he replied. “You raised me, and you raised me well. I know you’ll do the same with this little one. You’re going to be a brilliant mother.”


	8. Chapter 8

“God, birth sounds fucking disgusting. Why are you telling me all this?”

“Hey, I am a very excited uncle and I want my boyfriend to share in that!”

“I am _not_ your fucking boyfriend!”

“Oh? So why am I moving away from my family to be with you?”

“Because I’m awesome, duh.”

“Fuck you, Bakura.”

Marik lay in bed, a hand behind his head, the other hand holding his mobile to his ear. It had been a few days since Ishizu had given birth, and Bakura had his own phone now, so they could speak in privacy without Ryou hovering in case Bakura never gave him his own mobile back.

“Is Rishid coming back anytime soon?” Bakura asked.

“Yeah. As soon as we sent him a picture of Nefertari, he said he’d sack off the rest of the trip and come straight home. I’m meeting him at the airport tomorrow morning.”

“Nefertari?”

“Yeah. Nefertari-Rose Ishtar. It’s a mouthful, but Ishizu likes it.”

“Sounds fucking ridiculous.”

“Doesn’t matter, she’s a baby and babies are cute.”

“They so are not.”

“Good thing I’m not having babies with you then.”

“Damn right,” Bakura chuckled.

Marik rolled over in bed and flipped open his laptop. “I’m sending you something over. Check your emails.”

“I don’t have a fucking email.”

“Yeah, you do. Ryou says he set you one up when you moved in. My phone is crap and doesn’t send picture messages, so email it is. Just check it, alright? It should be logged in automatically on your browser.”

“Alright, alright.” Marik heard the faint tapping of keys over the phone as Bakura typed at the old computer Ryou had given him. “Hmmm…okay, here we go. Yep, I’m in, so – holy fuck, Marik!”

Marik smirked. “Like it?”

Bakura didn’t reply. Marik could only assume he was too busy gaping. He’d ‘borrowed’ Ishizu’s professional camera the day before and set it up in his bedroom to take a few sultry pictures for Bakura’s viewing pleasure. He couldn’t decide which ones he liked the most, so he just sent them all.

“Well,” Bakura chuckled, “looks like I just found my new background.”

“Which one?”

“The one where you’ve got one hand in your hair and the other on your cock.”

“Oh lord, please don’t ever let Yugi look at your desktop.”

“Pfft, like he ever comes in my room anyway.” Marik heard Bakura shift away from the computer, presumably getting back into bed himself. “I have a super awkward boner right now.”

“Want me to take care of it for you?”

“What, all the way from Egypt? You had god powers once, but even you can’t fly.”

“No, but I’m sure I can dirty talk you into making yourself come,” Marik purred. “It’d be hot. Indulge me?”

“…Fucking hell, you’re such a tease,” Bakura groaned. “Alright, fine.”

Marik giggled excitedly, feeling his boxers getting a little tighter. “Hmmm…now what would I do to you if I were there…” He stroked a hand delicately down his stomach, teasing just below the navel. “I think I’d kiss you, deep and slow, and let you know how much I missed you. Would you like that?”

“Dammit,” Bakura gasped.

“And then…I’d take your hand, and lead you to your bedroom, strip your clothes off and have you undress me.”

“Dammit, Marik, fuck…” Bakura was panting now. Marik very faintly heard the sound of Bakura’s zipper coming down.

“I think I would take a moment to just admire you naked…and run my hands over you…” Marik slipped a hand beneath his boxers and grasped his quickly hardening cock. “And then shove you down onto the bed and drop to my knees.”

“Fuck yes,” Bakura moaned. “I want your mouth on me, Marik.”

“Mmm…your cock would taste so good in my mouth, Kura…you want me to suck you?”

“Yes, yes, yes!”

Marik began stroking himself. “Can you imagine it? My tongue running up your shaft? Licking the head and dipping into the slit? I’d suck your cock, and massage your thighs, and fondle your balls until you were screaming out my name.”

A loud, sexy moan came instead of a verbal response. Marik smirked, knowing he’d riled Bakura up into uncontrollable levels. “Would you let me put my mouth lower?” he purred.

“I’d let you do anything you wanted,” Bakura panted.

“You’d like my tongue in your ass?”

“Yes, fuck…do it, do it.”

“Imagine it, Kura. Imagine me dragging my tongue downwards and my hands spreading your thighs apart.” Marik couldn’t help the quaver in his voice as he edged closer to orgasm. “Then I’d press my tongue up against your hole and listen to you cry out in pleasure. You’d be touching yourself and throwing your head back, and all I’d be able to think is how fucking sexy you are.”

“Fuck, Marik, I’m…I’m gonna come - !”

“Come for me, beautiful.”

 _“Ahhh!_ Marik! Marik!” Bakura screamed. His breaths came ragged down the phone, sending a pleasured thrill down Marik’s spine. He loved knowing that he could bring such ecstasy to Bakura without even being there.

“Oh, Kura…that was so hot,” Marik murmured. “God, the things I’m going to do to you when we see each other again…”

Bakura gave a low chuckle. “Can you hold on a sec? I need to clean up.”

“Sure thing.” Marik continued to run his fingers up the length of his shaft, closing his eyes. In his mind, he saw Bakura spread out on his bed, gasping for breath, thighs quivering, sweat beading his brow and milky essence dappling his stomach. _When I see you again, I am going to tell you, over and over again, just how beautiful you are. I’m going to kiss you and hold you, and never let you go again for as long as I live. Being away from you is more painful than I could ever tell you._

“Marik?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s your turn.”

“O-Oh.” Marik’s stomach gave a little flip. “Alright then. Do your worst, Kura.”

* * *

 

Bakura’s voice took on a soft, sultry tone. “I’d drag you up and push you onto your back. We have lube, right?”

“Of course we have fucking lube.”

“Then I’d spread lube over your cock and stroke it into your skin. The pleasure in your eyes, oh…it makes me want to come again,” Bakura whispered. Marik gasped, squeezing himself tighter, moving his hand faster. “We’ll skip the prep. I want the pain. I want to feel _alive_ with you.”

“Oh, Kura…”

“Mmm…Marik, I’m going to ride you.”

Marik’s mind exploded with lustful fantasy. “Yes,” he moaned. “Oh, yes. Ride my cock, Bakura. Ride me hard.”

“Can you feel me, Marik?” Bakura purred. “Can you feel me straddling your thighs? I’d slide down onto you and relish you calling out my name. You’d grab my hips and buck up, but I’d pin you down and worship your body like the god you always wanted to be.”

Marik couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He felt the rush of pleasure overwhelming him, and he tossed his head back, moaning loudly. “Bakura! I’m coming!”

“Yes…come for me…come inside me, Marik.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Bakura!” Marik gasped, his eyes squeezing shut as he came harder than he’d ever done before. Boneless, he sank into the mattress, groaning in satisfaction.

Bakura made a quiet noise, seemingly pleased. “Well, that certainly was an experience.”

Marik just moaned softly, unable to put his thoughts into words.

“Yep, that’s how I feel too,” Bakura laughed.

“Oh god, Kura…you’d better be ready for me when I get to Japan, because I am locking you up in your room and not letting you out for a full day.”

“Mm, you want to lock me up, do you? Kinky. I can work with that.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“You will. Believe me, you will. Over and over.”

“Dammit, don’t do this to me. I can’t go again, not yet.”

Bakura chuckled, amused. “I really do miss you, you know. Ryou and Yugi being all lovey-dovey with each other isn’t helping at all.”

“Kura…I miss you too.” Marik cleaned himself up one-handed, yanked his boxers off and curled up back in bed, sighing. “Look, I should probably get some sleep now. Once I pick up Rishid, I’ll book my plane ticket.”

“Looking forward to it,” Bakura replied, and Marik knew he was smiling. “Say hi to Baldy for me. He _is_ still bald, right?”

“As bald as ever. Okay, _ya amar._ I’ll speak again soon.”

“Goodnight, Marik.”

“Goodnight, beautiful.”

The loneliness in Marik’s heart never abated, but knowing he would be with Bakura again soon eased the pain, even if just a little. He drifted off to sleep with the image of his beloved strong in his mind.

The next morning, Marik woke up to an email from Bakura.

**_Thought I’d return the favour, though I’m not nearly as much of an attention-slut as you are, so you’ll have to work for my clothes to come off._ **

Marik laughed aloud, and clicked on the email attachment. Bakura was obviously still very self-conscious about his low weight, but Marik could already see that he’d started to fill out again. The photo had been taken side-on, Bakura’s shirt open and his jeans unbuttoned, eased down low on his slim hips. Marik couldn’t help but lick his lips, his hand moving automatically to download the photo and set it as his desktop background. _Gods, you are impossibly sexy._

 ** _Thanks for the jerk-off material,_** he typed back. **_I’ll work hard and have those clothes on your bedroom floor before you know it._**

Chuckling, he checked the time in the corner of his monitor, and yawned, rubbing his eyes. _I’d best get dressed and go pick up Rishid from the airport._

Swinging his legs out of bed, he began searching for something clean to wear, then tied his hair back into a haphazard bun and left the apartment to jog to the airport.

Marik found Rishid sat quietly in the airport waiting room, arms crossed and eyes closed, his usual look of deep contemplation setting his face into a relaxed stance. Marik called out to him excitedly, and the sound of his voice made Rishid smile gently as he stood up. “Rishid! How have you been?” Marik grinned, approaching to give him a friendly hug.

Rishid yawned in response. “Tired. So very tired. These business meetings are truly exhausting.”

“Well, don’t expect to get much rest once you’re home. You’re a father now.”

“I can’t wait to meet her.”

“She’s beautiful, Rishid. Absolutely perfect. Ishizu’s so excited to have you back.”

“How is she?”

“Recovering well. She’ll be much better with you at home now. How long has it been?”

“Three months, give or take? I don’t know anymore. I stopped counting.”

“Anyway, let’s go. I’ve called a cab. Figured you’d have too much luggage for my bike to handle.”

The taxi was waiting outside when they left the airport, and they jumped in, Rishid’s luggage bundled into the boot. As they headed back to Ishizu and Rishid’s apartment, Marik told Rishid about Bakura. He found it much easier to tell his brother-in-law about his budding relationship than he did explaining to Ishizu. Rishid just nodded the whole time, listening silently.

It was only when Marik mentioned he was leaving that Rishid spoke again. “When do you leave?”

“In two weeks. I bought my plane ticket while I was in the airport.”

“Are you moving in with Bakura?”

“With Ryou for now. Bakura lives with him. Then we’re going to look for our own place.”

Rishid nodded slowly. “It’s good to see you striking out in life, Marik. I’ve been worried about you.”

“Why?”

“You…haven’t been living, I guess. Just existing.”

 _Well, that much is true,_ Marik mused, leaning against the soft interior of the taxi’s passenger door. _No more, though. Time to make something of myself._

Ishizu was napping in bed with Nefertari when they returned. Marik watched from the doorway as Rishid carefully sat down on Ishizu’s free side, brushing a hand over her shoulder. She stirred and rolled over, smiling sleepily. “You’re back,” she whispered.

“Hi, Ishizu,” Rishid murmured, kissing her brow. “I missed you.”

Ishizu pulled herself up in bed and slid her hands under Nefertari, bringing the sleeping infant into her arms. “Meet your daughter, Rishid. I think you’ll like her.”

 _Like her? He’s going to love her to pieces._ Marik blinked happy tears away from his eyes as he watched Ishizu pass Nefertari over to her father. Rishid stroked her tiny head and stared at her in utter wonder, his face impassive, but both Marik and Ishizu knew he was immediately besotted. “We have created something beautiful,” he said quietly, touching Nefertari’s cute button of a nose. “An Ishtar life born out of the duties as a tomb-keeper. This is more important to me than I can put into words. Ishizu, I…I’ve never been happier than I am with you. With our daughter, we are complete, truly complete.”

“Rishid…” Ishizu breathed, resting her head on his shoulder. Her arms wound round his waist and together they admired Nefertari as she slumbered on, oblivious to the world.

Marik turned away, wiping his eyes. This was their moment to cherish.


	9. Chapter 9

The music blaring from Ryou’s house was almost deafening, even from outside the front door. Marik stood there, rather confused and wondering if Ryou’s tastes had taken a sudden turn for female-fronted symphonic metal in the last few weeks. He knocked on the door, having a feeling that he wouldn’t be heard at all.

He had arrived in Domino City the night before, having booked into a hotel as it was too late to have been bothering Ryou and Bakura. It was midday, but it felt like the middle of the night to a jet-lagged and exhausted Marik. He rubbed his eyes while he waited in the hopes that someone had heard him knocking.

To his surprise, the door swung open a few seconds later.

“Marik! Hi!”

The bottom of Marik’s stomach dropped out and a visible tremor ran through him. Yugi stood before him, leaning against the doorway with his arms folded and a huge smile on his face. It had been two years since they had last seen each other at the ceremonial duel, but Marik felt no less guilty for everything he had done to him and his friends during Battle City. Yugi didn’t seem to be fazed at all though, and unfolded his arms to reach out and wrap them around Marik, tugging him in for a friendly hug. “Hey, don’t be so nervous! I know that look on your face. Really, Marik, it’s fine, we’re fine.”

“Sorry,” he laughed. “Um, what are you doing here, Yugi?”

“Lunch break,” Yugi replied, pulling back. “Thought I’d pop back and be here to greet you when you arrived. It’s Ryou’s day off, so he’s here as well.”

“Bakura?”

“In the shower. The music’s his.”

“It’s, uh…loud.”

“Yeah, he’s taken quite a liking to Nightwish these days,” Yugi laughed lightly. “Come on in. Bakura will be ages showering, he always is.”

Marik stepped inside and removed his shoes, remembering the customs within Japanese houses as he donned the nearest pair of slippers. He allowed Yugi to lead him inside, taking a look around inquisitively. It was his first time in Ryou’s house, but nobody could have mistaken it for anyone else’s. Monster World figurines and game sheets were scattered everywhere, haphazardly, but neatly. A few games consoles sat under the TV, and the scent of cleaning products lingered, soft pine and creamy vanilla. Ryou was very tidy, and everything seemed to have its place. The only sign of messiness was the pile of papers and oil pastels covering the coffee table. Yugi obviously stayed in the house a lot, as he weaved through with familiarity and an air of wilful comfort.

Yugi had changed a lot since Marik last saw him. Gone was the tiny boy with the sad smile and shy demeanour. Yugi was much taller now, his arms rippling with muscle and his glittering purple eyes outlined heavily with kohl. His tri-coloured hair hung loose around his head, brushing his shoulders, and Marik couldn’t help but think that it suited him immensely.

Ryou was in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove and humming to himself in time with the music upstairs. The familiar smell of frying onions and spicy tomato sauce made Marik smile; Ryou was making koshary. He looked up as Yugi and Marik approached, his face breaking into a joyful smile. “Hey, you!” he beamed, putting his stirring spoon down. “How was your flight?”

“Long,” Marik chuckled, letting Ryou kiss both his cheeks and squeeze his hands. “I’m so tired. I feel ready to drop any moment.”

“Sit down at the table and relax. Are you hungry?”

“Starving.” Marik dropped into a nearby chair with a happy sigh.

“You’re just in time then. I’ll have this ready in a few minutes.”

“You’re an angel, honey,” Marik smiled.

“Honey,” Yugi snorted, amused, as he passed Marik a cup of coffee. “I don’t think I’ll ever get over that.”

Ryou pecked Yugi on the cheek, then his lips, smiling softly. “You’re a good sport, love.”

“Just for you, snowflake.”

Marik giggled at their antics. _“Ya lahwy,_ you two are ridiculously soppy.”

They certainly were an odd combination to look at - dark, powerful Yugi in his leather trousers and fashionably distressed black jumper with all his eyeliner and studded jewellery; soft, effeminate Ryou in his grey jeans and blue button-down shirt, hair held back in a messy bun with a chopstick and a smudge of tomato sauce on his cheek. But the way they looked at each other spoke of a love that didn’t care how little they matched up physically, that they saw the person inside. Marik wondered if Bakura would ever look at him like that.

_No, of course he wouldn’t. He’d tell me to stop being an idiot and shove me, or something. Then kiss me and wink like he knows something I don’t._

Yugi glanced at his watch and sighed. “I should head back. Grandpa will make me sweep the porch for the rest of the day if I’m late again.”

“Okay,” Ryou murmured, stirring again. “See you tonight?”

“I’ll be back around ten. I wanna play EverQuest with Jonouchi before I come back over. We’ve got a good campaign going on and he’ll mess it up without me.”

“No problem, love,” Ryou replied. “Take your time.”

Yugi pulled Ryou in for a deep, slow kiss, seemingly forgetting, or not particularly caring, that Marik sat just a few feet away from them. “Love you, snowflake. See you later.” He flashed a grin in Marik’s direction. “You too, Marik. I know you’ll be here for a while, so we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

Marik just nodded at him, smiling shyly. Yugi squeezed Ryou’s hand and grabbed his jacket from the back of one of the chairs, slinging it over his shoulder as he left the room. They just about heard the front door closing over Bakura’s music.

“Why hasn’t Yugi moved in with you yet?” Marik asked, crossing his legs and swinging the top leg back and forth. “Kura says he’s here all the time.”

Ryou started putting together the finished koshary, layering the various parts of the dish. “We’ve discussed it,” he replied, “but Yugi struggles with the idea of leaving his grandfather, I think. It’s no problem either way…it’s good to have the space sometimes, you know?” He passed a plate over to Marik and sat down opposite him with his own. “I’m glad you’re here,” Ryou smiled. “Bakura has missed you terribly.”

“He’s said that?” Marik spooned koshary into his mouth eagerly, delicious flavours exploding across his tongue. Not for the first time, he marvelled at how good a cook Ryou was.

“Like hell,” laughed Ryou, sipping tea and largely ignoring his own plate, “but I know him. It’s obvious. All he does is talk about you.”

Marik blinked, surprised. “You’re serious?”

“Yep. He was even telling me about your new niece. Congratulations, by the way! I bet she’s cute.”

“She’s beautiful. Here, I’ll show you.” Marik pulled his phone out and flicked through the pictures till he found the ones he’d taken of Nefertari. “Look at her little nose! Have you ever seen anything so adorable?”

Ryou’s soft brown eyes sparkled as he gazed at the screen. “Oh, Marik…you must be so proud. She’s perfect. How is Ishizu doing?”

“Really well.” Marik tucked his phone away again. “She’s always been strong though, so I don’t think I expected anything else. Rishid’s really settling back into Dad Mode as well, and he did a pretty good job of raising me where my own dad fucked up, so it’s probably second nature to him these days.”

“I’m so happy for all of you! A baby is such a wonderful gift, and I know you’ll treasure her dearly.”

Marik smiled fondly at his friend, feeling a little flutter in his heart. _Ryou, I hope you know how special you are to me. You helped me bring Bakura back, and you shower all of us with masses of unconditional love. What would I do without you and your soppy praise? Yugi’s so fucking lucky to have you._

 “The oil pastels in the living room, are they yours?” Marik asked, changing the subject before he got too emotional himself. “I don’t remember you doing any art besides Monster World stuff.”

“Oh, they’re Kura’s,” Ryou replied. “He sits most evenings and works with them. He’s pretty good, actually. I’ll try and dig out some of his works later…he’s hidden them so you couldn’t see.”

“Why?”

“You’ll know when you see them,” Ryou smirked. “Kura has threatened to set my hair on fire if I show you, but I need a haircut anyway, so it’ll be worth it.” As was usual, he still wasn’t eating much, content to just sit back and drink tea like he could be sustained on the sweetened liquid alone.

After a few minutes of no talking, Ryou tilted his head up towards the ceiling, pursing his lips. “Water’s stopped. He must be out of the shower now.”

“How the hell do you hear that over this fucking music?”

Ryou shrugged. “You just kind of hear it in the pipes.” He drained the last of his tea and put his barely touched koshary into the fridge for later. “I need to go out and do some food shopping. Will you be okay here for a while?”

Marik raised a blonde eyebrow, smirking. “Cut the crap, honey. I know you’re just trying to get out of the way so Kura and I can have some alone time.”

“You got me,” Ryou winked. “No, but I do actually need to get some stuff…though I may be gone for several hours.”

“I take no responsibility for the condition you find Kura in when you come back.”

“I’m counting on at least a few hickies,” laughed Ryou.

“Bet you a week’s worth of doing all the housework that I can give him at least three. Visible, of course.”

“You’re on!” Ryou grinned. He left the room, waving over his shoulder. “Have fun!”

_I’m sure I will,_ Marik grinned.

The music had dropped down to a much lower, more acceptable volume by the time Marik had finished eating and headed upstairs. He could see steam billowing out of the open bathroom door, and hear Bakura’s low humming. The sound made Marik smile softly. Hearing Bakura as he was, instead of through phone speakers, sent his heart soaring with joy. Curious, he peered around the bathroom door.

The mirror over the sink had been wiped to clear the steam, and Bakura stood in front of it with a little scowl knitting his brows as he dragged a razor across his throat. Marik could tell that he had gained a little more weight since they exchanged pictures, and he now looked pleasantly slender instead of verging on seriously ill. His cheeks were fuller, his eyes brighter, his skin clearer and more vibrant. Wearing dark blue jeans, with a red plaid shirt open over his bare chest and hair hanging damp around his shoulders, he gave off an impossibly sexy air. Marik continued to watch for a few minutes, admiring the almost artistic care with which Bakura handled the razor.

Bakura finished shaving, setting the razor down, and rinsed any remaining shaving foam from his face. Leaning over to grab a towel to dry off, it was only then that he spotted Marik. All that was visible behind the towel was his eyes as he froze, blinking rapidly. “I…didn’t hear you come in,” he said quietly.

“Blame your deafening music,” Marik chuckled. “Hi, Kura.”

“Marik…” Bakura almost sounded breathy, longing. Then he caught himself and turned away, throwing the towel over his shoulder and missing the laundry basket completely. “When did you get here?”

“About half an hour ago.”

Bakura splashed aftershave on his face and winced at the sting. “You look tired.”

“Jet lag is a bitch.” Marik leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms. “You’ve put on weight.”

“Fuck you, Ishtar.”

“It’s a good thing. I’m not calling you fat.”

Bakura looked down at his exposed chest, a smirk twisting the corner of his mouth. “I guess I didn’t really pull off the skeletal look. Still kind of sucks that even Ryou has bigger muscles than me, though. And _Yugi!_ Holy fuck, have you seen Yugi? I didn’t think the little shrimp could even lift anything bigger than a deck of cards, and now he’s swinging weights around like they’re feathers.”

“He’s taller than you now.”

“Don’t fucking remind me,” Bakura growled.

“I can remind you of something else,” Marik winked.

Bakura’s deep brown gaze met Marik’s lavender. Even for all their teasing, tension and anticipation hung heavy in the air, ready to burst at a moment’s notice. Marik took a few steps towards Bakura, flicking his hair over his shoulders in a way that bared his slim neck, an alluring gesture that had Bakura swallowing visibly, a slight flush darkening his cheeks. When Marik reached out to run his fingertips gently down Bakura’s chest, he shuddered, a little gasp leaving his mouth before he could stop himself.

Hearing that gasp broke any restraint Marik had. Grabbing Bakura’s shirt, he pulled him close and crashed their lips together, eliciting soft moans from both willing parties. Bakura’s legs trembled and he clutched at Marik for support as their mouths devoured each other hungrily.

Marik’s mind was a blur of half-coherent thoughts, unable to concentrate properly on anything but Bakura, the feel of his skin beneath his palms, the taste of his tongue sliding against his own. _Gods, he feels so warm, so real…he’s really here, he hasn’t vanished…I was so scared, but…but it’s okay, he’s here, he’s with me now._

“Bedroom,” Bakura whispered. “Behind you.”

Marik didn’t need telling twice. They stumbled backwards, Marik busily unbuttoning Bakura’s jeans with one hand and hooking the fingers of the other into the paler man’s belt loops, keeping a firm grip on him. Their lips only pulled away briefly so Bakura could yank Marik’s shirt off over his head, then they were kissing again, fighting for dominance, neither relenting. Marik slid Bakura’s open shirt down his arms, letting the soft cloth flutter to the floor. He didn’t need to ask if it was okay to start undressing Bakura. His actions alone told him he was craving it.

He fumbled behind for the door handle, sending them both toppling into the room once he had the door open. They ended up on the floor, Bakura on top of Marik, but their desperate kissing was barely broken by the tumble. They just clung to each other harder, as if they never wanted to let go.

* * *

 “This is definitely happening, right?” Marik said breathlessly against Bakura’s lips.

“It fucking better,” Bakura replied, just as breathlessly.

“Let me up then, or I’m going to end up fucking you on the floor.”

Bakura laughed. “Sounds good.”

“No, I’m serious. This hurts my back. Let me up.”

“Ah, yeah…sorry.” Bakura pulled back onto his knees, allowing Marik to sit up and rub his scars gingerly. “Do you need oil or anything? I’m sure Ryou has some stashed away in his room.”

“No. Just you.” Marik got to his feet, pulled Bakura up with him, and shoved him towards the bed. Bakura let out a rather uncharacteristic giggle, that faded into a deep hum of contentment when Marik joined him, the Egyptian’s lips sucking at the side of Bakura’s neck. “How good is your memory?” he asked quietly as he pulled away. He traced his tongue over the aggravated patch of skin, seeing it already starting to bruise a pale tinge of blue.

Bakura frowned. “Uh, good, I guess. What’s up?”

“What say we recreate our little phone call? You know, _that_ one.”

“Oh.” Bakura’s cheeks flushed, but he grinned, clearly pleased. “Fuck yes, I’m game for that.” He grabbed a small remote from the bedside table, and aimed it across the room, turning his music off.

Marik pressed a kiss to Bakura’s lips. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

He jumped off the bed and hurried downstairs, locating his luggage and riffling through it. Locating condoms and lube, he dashed back upstairs, finding Bakura lounging back on the bed with an amused look on his face. “Someone’s eager to get started.”

“Of course,” Marik replied, tossing the box and bottle onto the mattress beside Bakura. “I mean, look at you. You’re so fucking sexy, why _wouldn’t_ I want to ravish you?”

“You’re one to talk,” Bakura replied, as Marik knelt beside him and began pulling off his jeans.

“Did you just call me sexy?”

“Damn fucking right I did.”

Marik chuckled, throwing Bakura’s jeans to the side and hooking his fingers into the waistband of his boxers. “You’re sure this is okay? You don’t feel – ”

“Marik, I swear to Anubis himself, if your tongue isn’t up my ass in the next two minutes – ”

“Alright, alright. _Now_ who’s eager?” Marik laughed as he ripped Bakura’s boxers away. The sight of him stretched out and devoid of all clothing made Marik’s chest tighten, his breath catch in his throat, his head go foggy and his cock twitch. He was gorgeous, absolutely perfect.

During their phone sex, Bakura had undressed him next, but Marik couldn’t wait a moment longer. They were already diverting, but neither gave a fuck. They just needed each other, the closeness, the sheer raw intimacy.

Marik pushed Bakura’s thighs apart and settled his head between them, fluttering soft kisses up his stiffened shaft. Bakura gasped, unable to tear his eyes away from the scene before him. When Marik slid his tongue over the leaking head, Bakura audibly whimpered, stuffing his hand into his mouth and biting down. “Oh, fuck,” he whispered. “Oh, holy fuck, Marik.”

Marik hummed happily, enjoying the reactions he was pulling from Bakura. He dug his nails into the inside of Bakura’s thigh with one hand, and palmed his balls with the other, before opening his mouth wide and plunging down, almost to the very base of Bakura’s cock. Bakura cried out, grabbing Marik’s hair with his free hand and bucking his hips upwards; Marik almost recoiled, feeling his gag reflex kicking in, but he forced himself to breathe deeply and take as much of Bakura in as he could.

His lover was completely lost in his pleasure, head thrown back and a constant stream of curses in a mixture of Japanese, Middle Egyptian and English poured from his mouth. Marik couldn’t understand half of what he said, but the desperate, erotic tone in his voice still turned him on immensely.

Marik pulled away. “Pass me one of your pillows,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. It took Bakura a few seconds to be able to respond, but he eventually came to his senses enough to reach behind his head and throw a pillow in Marik’s general direction. Smirking, Marik slipped it under Bakura’s hips, raising his lower half up. “Perfect,” he murmured. Dropping back down, he trailed a soft whisper of kisses up the back of Bakura’s thigh, feeling him shuddering in response. “You know what comes next, don’t you?” he smirked.

“Do it,” Bakura whispered.

 “You’re sure?”

“Marik!”

Marik laughed, amused by the neediness in his lover’s harsh growl. His sharp teeth sank into the delicate skin of the inside of Bakura’s thigh, and he sucked, raising another bruise. Bakura groaned, clearly enjoying the rough treatment, but judging by the rocking of his hips, he still wanted Marik’s attention elsewhere.

Parting Bakura’s cheeks with his hands, Marik ran the tip of his tongue over the quivering flesh of Bakura’s entrance, giving him just enough stimulation to let him figure out if he liked it. None of this was new to Marik, but everything was new to Bakura, and excited as they were, he still wanted to make sure Bakura was okay to continue.

There was no doubt, however, that Bakura was more than eager to carry on. His hips lifted off the mattress at the touch of Marik’s tongue and his leg muscles spasmed as he threw his head back and cried out. “Fuck! Again!”

_Gladly, Bakura._

Again and again, Marik’s tongue slid against Bakura, alternating between slow, broad licks, and thrusting in as far as he could go. Bakura’s moans became breathy gasps, his chest heaving with every sharp inhale. Giving no thought to any form of restraint, he grabbed Marik’s hair with one hand, and pumped at his cock with the other. He was close, so close, but Marik pulled back at the last minute and Bakura snarled in rabid frustration. “What the fuck, Marik?!”

“I can’t wait, Bakura. I’m sorry.” Marik’s fingers fumbled with his belt buckle and pried open his jeans, shedding them quickly along with his boxers. “I just, I…I have to have you. Right now.”

Bakura’s scowl quickly turned upside down, and he chuckled as he reached to the side for the wayward bottle of lube, rolling it over to Marik. “What’s with the condoms? We didn’t use them last time we fooled around.”

“Well, I figured, you know…you’ve just showered, and it’s your first time, so…” Marik felt his cheeks heating up in a blush.

“Suppose you’ve got a point.” Bakura slid a foil wrapper out of the box and flicked that in Marik’s direction as well. “So is this how it works? We have a single sexy phone call and suddenly I’m the bottom?”

“Sure, whatever,” Marik muttered, ripping open the wrapper and rolling the latex sheath down his length.

“Works for me.” Bakura shoved Marik down onto his back and snatched up the lube himself, squirting a generous amount on himself and Marik. “But today,” he smirked down at his honey-haired lover, “the bottom is on top.”

Marik laughed. “That is _not_ how it works, Bakura.”

“Bite me.”

And with that, Bakura centred himself over Marik’s erection, and slid down. Bakura hadn’t been prepped, but he was insistent, and pushed down, wriggled, rocked his hips to force himself to take Marik inside. Marik gasped, digging his fingers into Bakura’s thighs. Bakura was tight, incredibly tight, but soft and warm, and the sensations had Marik moaning before they’d even started.

Bakura’s inexperience was more than made up for by his enthusiasm and speed of learning what both he and Marik liked. He rocked, and bounced, and encouraged Marik to match him thrust for thrust as sweat rolled down their bodies and heady moans of lust rendered their throats sore in a way they would never tire of. Marik wrapped his fingers around Bakura’s cock and let their movements stimulate Bakura towards completion; such was the intensity of their lovemaking, Marik barely needed to move his hand at all.

Worked up and excited from their foreplay, it didn’t take long for Bakura to rocket into orgasm, his body jerking violently before coming to a panting, gasping halt, hot streams of semen spilling over Marik’s fingers and stomach.

Bakura’s hair stuck to his face and his cheeks were flushed a deep crimson, but his eyes were soft, his slender frame relaxed beyond measure. Marik gestured for him to lean down, capturing his lips in a kiss, and rolled them over to press Bakura gently into the mattress. “Doing okay?” he asked as he started moving again, slower this time.

“Don’t stop,” Bakura murmured, drawing his legs up to hold Marik firmly between his thighs. His hands roved Marik’s back, tracing nonsensical patterns around the deep valleys of scar tissue, his loud moans reduced down to soft gasps and the occasional whimper. Marik kissed along his collarbone and up to his neck, sucking and raising another bruise on the opposite side to the first. Bakura closed his eyes, uttering something between a hum and a groan, tilting his head to give Marik better access. Marik bit and sucked under Bakura’s jaw, and beneath his ear, and over his collarbones, and just about anywhere else he could place his mark. Soon a collection of blue and purple bruises speckled Bakura’s snow-white skin, a beautiful contrast, and judging by the way Bakura pushed down on Marik’s head with a shaking hand, he loved the blurring pleasure and pain.

Bakura bucked upwards as best he could, grinding himself against Marik and sending ecstatic jolts of electricity down Marik’s spine. He knew it wouldn’t be long before he climaxed now, and began to thrust faster, hooking his arms behind Bakura’s knees and lifting his legs up and back, settling them against his shoulders. Bakura hissed and screwed his face up at the new, much deeper, angle, but he adjusted quickly and grabbed Marik’s smooth backside, urging him onwards. “Are you close?” he asked.

Marik could barely speak through his heavy breaths and groans of pleasure, so he simply nodded, feeling the first tremors of orgasm starting to ripple through him. Bakura slid a hand up Marik’s chest to settle against his bronzed cheek, caressing with delicate fingers. The gesture wasn’t anything like Bakura was used to doing, nor did Marik expect it, but the tenderness in the touch was welcome and made Marik’s heart flutter despite its pounding against his ribs in his pleasure. “Come,” Bakura whispered. “Come for me, Marik. Come inside me.”

“Fuck, Bakura…” Marik gasped. His hips slammed forward only a few more times before he shuddered and felt his release spill forth. With what little energy he had left, he guided Bakura’s legs back down to the bed, and dropped down with a sigh, nestling his head in the crook of Bakura’s neck. Bakura’s slim arms draped loosely across Marik’s back, soft breaths tickling the side of his face. Marik uttered a blissful groan and nuzzled his lover wearily. “How was it?” he asked quietly.

Bakura didn’t answer immediately, twining a leg with Marik’s and absently running his hands through mussed-up, golden hair. “Do I really have to answer that?” he smirked.

“Some feedback would be nice.”

“What, do you want me to fill in a fucking tick list for you or something?”

Marik laughed. “Shut up.”

“First you ask for my opinion, then you tell me to shut up. You’re hopeless.”

“I love you too,” Marik grinned. He disentangled himself from Bakura and made his way to the bathroom on shaking legs, where he disposed of the condom and grabbed tissue to clean himself and Bakura up. When he returned, Bakura had put his music back on, albeit a lot quieter now. “What’s gotten you into this sort of music?” he asked as he tossed a wad of tissue towards Bakura. “I can’t understand a word of it.”

“It’s in English,” he replied, dabbing at his stomach and thighs. “I don’t know, I just like it. Her voice is soothing.”

Marik crashed onto the bed, rubbing his eyes. “I’m so fucking exhausted now.”

“Sleep then,” Bakura murmured. “You’ve had a long flight.”

“You’re sure?”

“You might as well, if you’re tired.”

“Will you stay with me?”

Bakura laughed softly, pulling back the covers. “You’re such a fucking softy. Yeah, alright then, but I’m playing Snake on my phone.”

Marik rolled his eyes, but slid under the covers with Bakura and cuddled up close, resting his head on his chest. Bakura put an arm under his shoulders and gently pulled him closer, dropping a kiss to his brow. “It’s good to be back with you,” Marik whispered.

Bakura smiled, stroking Marik’s arm, his free hand tapping buttons on his phone. “Sure is,” he replied.

“By the way…I made a bet with Ryou.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. If I gave you at least three visible hickies, he had to do the washing up for a week.”

“Holy fuck, Marik. How many have you given me?”

“Enough. More than enough.”

Bakura chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re crazy.”

“Worth it.” Marik’s eyes fluttered closed, feeling safe and content, enveloped in Bakura’s warmth. His heart at peace, he drifted off to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_"Ya lahwy - " Egyptian Arabic exclamation, "oh my god" or similar_ **


	10. Chapter 10

Marik awoke several hours later. The space beside him in Bakura’s bed was empty, but he could hear his lover and Ryou talking downstairs, and the faint clatter of pots and pans. Wincing as his back ached and protested, Marik slid out of bed and located his clothes. _Holy crap, we really flung our stuff everywhere,_ he thought with amusement as he buckled up his belt. _Guess that means we had a good time. Well, I know I did. I hope Bakura’s not too sore, though._

While he dressed, he took the time to look around Bakura’s room, having been too frantic in his earlier passion to have done so before. It was relatively bare, with only a bedside table and wardrobe, and a small shelf, but it had a Bakura-like feel about it from the various trinkets and objects scattered about - the scarab beetle brooch he'd picked up in Luxor, the gems and jewels from his hideout in Kul Elna, worn down stubs of oil pastels and half-painted Monster World figures. With a smile, Marik noted the empty vodka bottle sat on the shelf, the same bottle they had been drinking as they played Senet, just before their first kiss.

_I wonder where he's keeping the Millennium Ring. He'd never leave it out for any old person to see._

Marik finished dressing and slipped into the bathroom to find a mirror, taking a kohl pencil from his jeans pocket and reapplying his eyeliner. He fixed his hair, smoothed a few wrinkles out of his shirt, then headed downstairs.

Bakura was seated cross-legged on the floor in the kitchen, tongue between his teeth and a frown creasing his alabaster brow as he swiped his finger left and right over a canvas in front of him, propped up on a low easel. Smudges of colour brightened his hands and cheeks, and one of his eyebrows had been stained a shade of royal indigo. His eyes flicked upwards as Marik entered, but that was the only acknowledgement he gave, deep in his work as he chatted with Ryou in English, his lighter half busy washing up and occasionally leaning over to stir a bubbling pot of what smelled like curry.

Ryou smiled widely at Marik, waving with a soapsud-covered hand. "Hi!" Ryou trilled, switching back into Japanese. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah, thanks. I feel a lot better," Marik admitted, fiddling with Ryou's French press. "When did you get back?"

"About an hour ago," he replied. He dipped a spoon into the pot on the stove and offered it to Marik. "Here, does this need any more spice?"

Marik blew to cool, and then tasted. "Hmmm...hotter, I think. Will it blow anyone's head off?"

"No, Yugi's forever adding more heat to his food and Kura likes it hot too." Ryou grabbed a green chilli from the cupboard and started chopping. "Oh, I'll have a coffee if you're making one, please."

"Of course, honey. Kura, do you want coffee?"

"Sure," Bakura muttered, brushing hair out of his eyes and smudging his face further with a burst of deep red across his nose.

Marik made up the drinks and passed them out - black for himself, sweet and milky for Ryou, black with a pinch of sugar for Bakura. He dropped down beside Bakura and tried to peer at his canvas, but Bakura frowned and twitched it away, shaking his head. "It isn't done yet."

"I can't look till you're done?" Marik pouted.

"No."

"Kura, show him some of the other ones you've done," Ryou smiled.

"No!"

"You're really going to hide every single one of them away? They're _good,_ Kura. Show Marik at least one of them."

Bakura sighed. "Fine. Here." He shoved the unfinished canvas towards Marik and snatched up his coffee, sipping with a deep scowl.

Marik blinked at the canvas, surprised. He didn't immediately recognise the subjects, but he knew from the stories Bakura had told him that he was looking at the Thief King and his older sister, as she might have looked had she been alive in Bakura's teenage years. Bakura's description of his former appearance paled in comparison to the visual representation, and Marik found himself staring at the haunting violet eyes Bakura once had, as if he'd known them his whole life.

His sister had the same eyes, but her hair was a darker, steely grey, and she was clad in flowing blue linens and ornate jewellery, every inch the princess Bakura remembered her for. She danced by the dying light of the sun as Bakura watched on, he himself draped in the finery that might have befitted the Pharaoh himself; indigo shenti tied around his waist, scarlet robe opened to reveal a muscled chest, numerous rings glittering on his fingers, and a golden chain woven through his wild mass of starlight hair. He bore a deep tan from years of toiling under the hot Egyptian sun, and a long scar stretched down the right side of his face from brow to cheek.

It was peculiar, seeing Bakura looking so different, and yet so similar at the same time. “You’re beautiful,” Marik found himself whispering, before he could stop himself.

He expected Bakura to scowl further, or snort with thinly veiled contempt. But instead, a little smile lifted the corner of Bakura’s thin lips. “Wasn’t that bad back in the day, I suppose,” he replied.

“Would you like to look like this again?”

“I can take or leave the scar, but I wouldn’t mind having my old hair back.”

Ryou settled down on the floor with the couple, hands cupped around his mug and a twinkle in his deep brown eyes. “We should get you booked in with a hairdresser,” he told Bakura. “Mine is pretty good, and she specialises in Western hair. It would be safer than letting you go loose with any old box dye from the chemist.”

“Nuh-uh, no way. I remember all too well those chatty women that fussed over you whenever you went to get your hair cut. It was hell, sitting inside you and just fucking _waiting_ for them to shut up.”

“You might like it now, who knows?” Ryou laughed. He heaved himself back up and returned to meal preparation. “I’ll call her up and get you booked in, alright?”

“God fucking dammit, Ryou.”

“I love you too, Kura.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m already getting fucked. Thanks to Marik’s over-excited mouth, I’m stuck doing the washing up for a week, and you’ve seen how much mess Yugi makes when he cooks!” Ryou giggled as he pointed his spoon at Bakura, indicating the necklace of bruises decorating his pale skin. “They’re going to turn yellow in the next few days, you know.”

Bakura rubbed his neck, smirking. “I’m aware. Worth it.”

“Did I give you enough time?”

“More than enough.”

Marik groaned. “If I’d have known you two were going to discuss this in front of me, I’d have held off.”

“Oh, Marik,” Bakura grinned, “Ryou and I shared the same body, do you really think we _wouldn’t_ discuss this stuff?”

“You two are terrible.”

“Yep.”

Ryou was laughing as he transferred the curry to his slow cooker and set it to keep warm. “Okay, now we’re done embarrassing Marik, time for games?”

* * *

 _Final Fantasy X_ had just been released, and Yugi had bought it for Ryou’s twenty-first birthday. Bakura had been playing it more often than not, but he handed the controller to Marik and showed him how to start his own save file. Soon Marik was running around happily, fully immersed in the game while Bakura lounged on the sofa next to him and played Tetris on an old, battered Game Boy. Ryou sat at Marik’s feet, leaning back against the Egyptian’s legs while he painted a few Monster World figurines and occasionally jotted notes on a sheet of paper. He and Bakura chatted about the campaign they were building, and most of what they said went completely over Marik’s head, but it was just nice to see Ryou and Bakura getting along when just a few years ago, it would have been a battle for Ryou to even make himself known in his own body.

“Kura, this cloister is confusing me, what do I do?”

“Hm? Oh, you need to remove that sphere there…yep, that’s the one…and put it in the recess on the far wall. Right, now remove it…just put it anywhere…and then touch the glyph.”

“Ah! Thank you.”

“No problem.” Bakura shifted his position, slinging his legs over Marik’s lap and reclining with his head on the arm of the sofa. Marik smiled, dropping a hand to rub up Bakura’s calf as he worked the controller with the other hand. Bakura uttered a low purr of contentment, his usually hardened expression softening at his lover’s touch. Ryou glanced up at them and smiled, pleased at their affectionate interaction.

They all sat and played games, occasionally switching around, late into the night, until Yugi let himself in and they settled around the table in the kitchen to eat the curry Ryou had made earlier. Marik didn’t fail to notice that Ryou ate a lot more when Yugi was around, but he figured that was a good thing. _Heaven knows,_ someone _needs to make sure he doesn’t just drink tea all the time._

“Did you have fun gaming with Jonouchi?” Ryou asked Yugi.

“Yeah, it was pretty awesome,” Yugi replied, grinning. He’d removed his eyeliner now and tied his hair back, and he looked tired but happy. “He’s going to be out of town for the next few days, but we’ll pick up where we left off after that. In the meantime, could you help me replace a few parts in my computer? I think it might be dying.”

“Of course. I’ll have a look for some replacement parts after work tomorrow.”

“Thanks, snowflake.” Yugi paused to consume a few mouthfuls of food, his eyes lingering on Marik and Bakura. “And how are you guys?”

“Fine,” Bakura muttered. He was still playing on his Game Boy in between bites.

“Great, thank you,” Marik piped up. He still felt apprehensive around the King of Games, but it was clear that Yugi was making a real effort to make him feel comfortable, so he wanted to contribute as much as he could. “Are you staying the night, Yugi?”

“Yeah, I usually do. I’ve got the day off tomorrow and Ryou’s in work, so it’ll just be me here for most of the day.”

“Fucking yippee.” Bakura rolled his eyes.

Yugi laughed. “Say it like you mean it, Bakura.”

“I fucking do. You’re a pain in the ass.”

 _“Ya amar,_ be nice.”

“This _is_ me being nice.”

“It’s true,” Yugi said, feigning sadness. “He’s so nice to me that it sounds mean.”

 _Yugi’s changed so much,_ Marik mused, watching him banter back and forth with Bakura. His lover was scowling, but he could tell that he was quite amused by their exchange. _The Yugi I remember was so meek and withdrawn. Friendly, but incredibly shy. It was the Pharaoh who was the confident one. And now look at him. It’s like looking at Atem himself. It’s incredible._

After everyone had finished eating, Ryou washed up, then excused himself to take a shower and turn in for the night so he had enough sleep before work in the morning. Yugi retreated to the living room and curled up on the sofa with a book, while Bakura threw down his Game Boy, snatched up the abandoned canvas and pastels from the kitchen floor, and hurried off upstairs after Ryou, leaving Marik wondering what to do next. He didn’t want to hang around Bakura all the time, knowing he would want some space if he was feeling a little overwhelmed by Yugi’s constant presence. In the end, he settled for joining Yugi in the living room and picking up _Final Fantasy X_ again.

Yugi looked up from his book and smiled at the screen, watching Marik playing blitzball. “You guys all seem to like this game. I’m glad.”

“Yeah, it’s great,” Marik grinned. “I’ve never actually played this series myself. Are the other games any good?”

“Oh, you’re missing out! I’ll bring my collection over tomorrow and you can try out some of them, how does that sound?”

“I’d like that. Thanks, Yugi.”

“Don’t mention it.” Yugi’s eyes flicked downwards to his book again as he turned the page.

“No, really. It’s nice of you to – ” Marik had turned around to speak, and now he frowned. “Um, Yugi, since when do you wear glasses?”

“Oh, man.” Yugi laughed lightly, pushing the aforementioned glasses higher up on his nose. They made a peculiar contrast with his general appearance, but not in a negative way, rather, Marik just wasn’t used to it. “I only need them for reading,” Yugi explained. “I’d been squinting at my cards for ages, so my mother eventually carted me off to get my eyes tested. Been wearing these for about six months or so.”

“They suit you.”

Yugi’s cheeks lit up in a slight blush. “You’re very kind. Thank you.”

Marik found himself smiling a true smile, at last feeling perfectly at ease around the King of Games.

“Hey, Marik…wanna see something adorable?”

“Huh?”

Yugi hopped off the sofa and knelt on the floor beside Marik, lowering his head down to peer between the legs of the sofa. He rummaged around a moment, then slid out a covered canvas. Holding a finger to his lips, he pushed it towards Marik, grinning madly. “If you value my life at all, please don’t tell Bakura I showed you this.”

 _Depends what it is,_ Marik thought with amusement, sliding the cover off the canvas.

His mouth dropped open in shock. _Holy fuck, no wonder he didn’t want to show me._

Bakura had brought his lover to life in an explosion of artistic creativity. Marik couldn’t help but smile as he beheld himself on the canvas, a lone figure in the Egyptian desert, with arms raised as if he could fly into the deep night. A glimmer of gold wings burst from his shoulders like a majestic phoenix radiating light to chase the shadows away, the human embodiment of Ra himself. It was breathtakingly beautiful, the perfect epitome of Bakura’s talent with oils. “It’s amazing,” he whispered. “I can’t believe he’s so good at this.”

“He could make a career out of it, don’t you think?” Yugi said, his eyes back on his book. “The knowledge he has on Ancient Egypt, he could amass a fortune through his work. Nobody else on this earth knows what he does, and if you think this one’s good, wait till you see the others he’s done. Ryou and I have wanted to suggest going professional to him, but he gets so easily embarrassed, we don’t want to make him uncomfortable.”

Marik covered the canvas back up and replaced it under the sofa. “Thank you for showing me, Yugi,” he smiled. “I’m a little tired, so I think I’ll go upstairs now. See you in the morning?”

“Sure thing,” he replied. “Sleep well, Marik.”

Marik made his way upstairs and popped his head around Ryou’s bedroom door, where he found the white-haired young man reading in bed. “Do you mind if I hop in the shower?” he asked.

“Don’t be silly, go ahead,” Ryou laughed.

“Thanks, honey. Put that book down and get some sleep, you hear?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Just fuck already!” Bakura yelled from his room. Ryou’s eyes went wide at that, and he threw his book at the adjoining wall. Bakura burst out laughing, as did Marik. Ryou just groaned and flopped down, yanking the covers over his head.

Marik retreated to the bathroom, turning on the shower and letting it warm up while he pulled his clothes off. The scents of strawberry and watermelon lingered in the air from Ryou’s earlier shower, and the opened red bottle sat on the inside shelf told Marik that was the one he’d used, but that aside, he wasn’t sure which products he could use himself. Everything of his own was back at the hotel, having yet to move it all over.

 _I guess one night of stealing some shampoo and shower gel will be alright,_ Marik decided, grabbing the nearest couple of bottles as he stepped in. He usually cleaned his makeup off with oil first, but that, too, was back at the hotel, and he’d have felt rather strange marching downstairs and taking some from the kitchen, so instead he just scrubbed at his face till his fingers no longer had smudges of kohl on them, before washing his hair and body. The room was hazy with steam by the time he stepped out, towelling off his hair and then wrapping the towel round his waist.

“You ass, you used my shampoo, didn’t you?” Bakura accused, the moment Marik entered his room.

Marik shrugged. “My stuff’s still at the hotel, and somehow I don’t think I’d suit smelling like strawberries.”

“Fuck you, don’t use my shit, Ishtar.”

“Whatever.” Marik was too tired to argue with Bakura, who wasn’t looking at him, just scowling at his half-finished canvas from his position on the bed. Marik removed the towel from round his waist and slipped under the covers, propping himself up with his hand under his head and watching Bakura trail delicate strokes of pastel across his canvas. Bakura’s brow furrowed in concentration as he set down the inky blue in his hand and picked up a few similar shades, turning them over in his hands. It was an exquisite expression, something Marik never thought he’d see on Bakura. “You know you look absolutely gorgeous when you make that face, right?” he teased.

Bakura rolled his eyes, but he smiled faintly. He chose the colour he wanted and went back to work. He was silent for a few minutes as he finished up, then put the canvas aside and hopped up to use the bathroom. He returned with his hands and face rinsed clean of oil pastel smudges, teeth brushed and ready for sleep. Marik turned down the blanket on the empty side of the bed, and Bakura wasted no time in pulling his clothes off, only pausing to flick the light switch on the wall before clambering into bed beside Marik. A dimly lit lamp on Bakura’s side of the bed gave enough light to put Marik at ease, and the gesture, though small, was enough to make his heart swell further with affection for his grumpy lover. He curled up into Bakura’s chest and draped an arm loosely round his waist, sighing happily. “I’ll bring the rest of my stuff over tomorrow,” he murmured. “Does Ryou have an attic here or anything?”

“Yeah, he does,” Bakura replied. “Why?”

“Well, I figure I need to put everything somewhere that won’t clutter the place up. We could be here a while, right?”

“Nope.”

“Hm?”

“I already found us a place.”

Marik sat up, blinking rapidly. “You did? You didn’t say anything!”

Bakura laughed softly. “Not really the sort of thing you come out with when you’re getting fucked, and you fell asleep afterwards, so I didn’t exactly have the opportunity.”

“Where is it, and how on earth have you afforded it? I was going to help you out when I arrived.”

“Just round the corner from here, and Ryou gave me some of his savings for a deposit.”

“That was very sweet of him.”

“Kid’s too nice for his own good.” Bakura drew Marik back down and ran a hand through his golden locks, brushing them back from his face. “Said he wanted us to have a good head start.”

Marik closed his eyes, settling his head back against Bakura’s chest and listening to the steady pounding of his heart beneath his ribs. “Have you thought about what you want to do? You know, like working or anything?”

“Haven’t got that far yet,” Bakura admitted. “What about you?”

“I thought I might take a few classes somewhere. Kinda hard to get anywhere in life these days when you were underground for most of your life and have no qualifications.”

“Guess you’ve got a point.”

“You could join me?”

Bakura snorted. “Fuck that. I’ve had my fill of classrooms through Ryou. Never again.” Sighing, he settled his head against Marik’s and tightened his hold on him, drawing their bodies closer together. “Can we talk about this later? I’m worn out.”

“Sure.”

“Hey…Marik?”

“Yeah?”

“I, uh…I’m just…really grateful you brought me back.”

“My pleasure, _ya amar.”_

“You really need a different nickname for me. I hate that one.”

“I could call you _habibi.”_

“That’ll do.”

“Marik… _ana bahebak, habib albi.”_

Marik grinned, tilting his head back to kiss Bakura’s lips gently. _“Daisuki,_ Bakura- _kun.”_

* * *

**_"Habibi" - a common affectionate Arabic term meaning "my love."_ **

**_"Ana bahebak, habib albi" – Arabic for “I love you, love of my heart.”_ **

**_"Daisuki" – Japanese for “I love you.”_ **


	11. Chapter 11

One month became two, two became three, and before Marik and Bakura had even half processed the changes in their new lives, a whole year had passed by since Bakura had been yanked from the shadows. To say that it had been difficult to keep up with was an understatement, but both parties had settled reasonably well – or as well as they could, given their tendency to argue about everything - into living together as a proper couple.

The apartment that they rented out was on the top floor of a small tower block, and didn’t cost too much on a monthly basis. Yugi had finally moved in with Ryou, and given their house’s close proximity to the apartment, it was common for the four of them to be flitting between households or crashing there for the night after a day of gaming and drinking. Occasionally Jonouchi, Honda, Mai and Otogi came by as well, and Marik and Bakura had managed to establish semi-cordial relations with them all in between yet more arguments, but on the whole, friendship wasn’t feeling so overwhelming for the couple anymore.

Marik had made good on his suggestion to take classes. After gaining some qualifications in several core subjects, as well as starting to learn English with Ryou and Bakura’s help, he managed to enrol on an undergraduate course in Egyptology. His fluency in Middle Egyptian as well as being able to read and write hieratic, hieroglyphs, Coptic and Demotic left an astounding impression on the head lecturer at the local university, and he had been accepted onto the course quickly. The day after he had received his unconditional offer, he had come home from an impromptu shopping trip with Ryou to find the apartment cleaned from top to bottom, champagne chilling on ice, a three-course dinner cooking away, and a rather sheepish Bakura blushing violently and dismissing his efforts as “no big deal, shut up already.” Marik had barely managed to hold out the entire meal, and as soon as the plates had been cleared, he had dragged Bakura to the bedroom to show him just how much he appreciated him.

The day had been a busy one for Marik. He had only been on campus for half the day, but Ishizu and Rishid were due to visit later on, so he had spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning and baby-proofing the apartment. Nefertari had begun taking her first steps and Marik had it on good authority that she was “getting into everything,” as Rishid put it, and generally being a cute and curious nuisance. There were far too many sundries lying around that she was likely to grab, pull onto herself, or eat, and Marik ended up on his hands and knees, imitating his niece as he looked around at her level for anything she might be able to get her hands on.

“You know, there are easier ways of saying “do me, _habibi,”_ ” came Bakura’s amused tone as he trailed in from the kitchen to see Marik peering under the sofa with his pert backside in the air. The former thief looked a lot more like his original self now that some time had passed since his return; his hair had been cut shorter and dyed a pale grey, and since discovering that sunbeds existed, he had taken to visiting the local parlour every so often. Having emerged from the shadows with Ryou’s ghostly pallor, he wasn’t willing to risk tanning to extremes, but he now wasn’t far off Marik’s own colour, something that suited him immensely and gave him a healthy-looking glow.

Marik responded to Bakura’s comment with a raised middle finger, then reached out with his free hand, locating a knight from their chess set. Bakura raised an eyebrow at his find. “Thank fuck for that. I’ve been going nuts trying to find it.”

Marik withdrew into an upright position and shook his hair out of his face, handing the carved wood to Bakura. “Make yourself useful and put that somewhere my niece won’t find.”

“Ugh.” Bakura stuffed the piece into the pocket of his jeans, then ran a hand down his face, sighing. “Can’t I just escape to Ryou’s for the day? I can’t be fucking bothered with your sister’s endless questions and her shrieking womb spawn.”

“No. I haven’t seen them since I moved here, and Ishizu was worried enough about us shacking up together, so the least you can do is show her that this wasn’t the stupidest idea of our lives.”

With a groan, Bakura sank down onto the sofa. “Sometimes I think it was. You and your family are such pains in my ass.”

Marik smirked, instead shuffling closer and toying with Bakura’s zipper. “You love the pain in your ass, Kura.”

“Marik – ”

“I think you need sweetening up.” Marik’s busy fingers got to work unbuttoning and unzipping. Bakura’s mouth opened slightly as if to protest, but when Marik brushed his hand teasingly up his clothed shaft, all that came out was a gasp. Marik freed Bakura’s cock from the confines of his jeans and boxers, glancing up at him with an assertive look in his eye. “Be a good boy for me, _habibi,_ and I will pleasure you beyond your wildest dreams later tonight. That I can promise you, but _only_ if you behave when my family are here.”

The sultry tone of voice made a shiver run down Bakura’s spine in response. He hated to admit it, but Marik’s soft commands _really_ turned him on. So he grinned, and nodded, and shifted his legs apart a little wider to give Marik room. Marik chuckled, leaning in closer and ghosting his breath over the head of Bakura’s cock. Bakura screwed his eyes shut, hands clenching the sofa cushions. “Don’t you fucking dare tease me,” he hissed out.

“Hush,” Marik whispered, kissing up Bakura’s thigh. Pointedly ignoring the rapidly swelling arousal of his lover, he trailed his kisses round to Bakura’s stomach, pushing the fabric of his shirt upwards to access the ripples of ab muscle Marik loved to lavish his adoration upon. Not for the first time, he said a silent prayer to the gods above that Bakura had started going to the gym. Not that he hadn’t been gorgeous to begin with, mind, but Bakura’s sudden interest in his body and wanting to take care of it was something Marik found endearing and incredibly sexy.

Marik’s fluttering kisses made their way back down Bakura’s other thigh, and he rewarded his patience by brushing the pad of his thumb gently over the head of Bakura’s shaft, which was already beginning to leak in his pent-up excitement. Bakura squirmed and swore under his breath in response, frustrated with Marik’s slow pace and ridiculously horny and silently begging for him to carry on teasing, because both of them knew it would only intensify Bakura’s climax when it came. “Gods damn you,” Bakura groaned, and Marik laughed softly against his warm skin. “Fuck, dammit Marik, please – ”

Marik never could resist a “please” from Bakura. Finally, _fucking finally,_ Bakura thought, Marik dragged his tongue up the underside of Bakura’s straining erection before dropping his mouth down almost all the way to the base. Bakura threw his head back with a low cry of joy. Marik’s mouth was heavenly, the perfect amount of heat and wetness, and _gods,_ that tongue, that fucking talented tongue that drove him absolutely crazy night after night. He felt Marik’s hands stroking him as his mouth worked; cupping and gently squeezing his balls, sliding down to play across his entrance, nails scraping a tantalising tingle down the inside of his thighs. It drove Bakura wild with lust.

Marik withdrew a moment and wiped his wet lips. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

Bakura’s response was to tackle Marik to the carpet and slam their mouths together as he tugged on Marik’s belt. Their hips rolled, rubbing their stiffened cocks together and drawing gasps and sighs of pleasure from both young men.

“I’m plenty sweetened up now,” Bakura smirked against Marik’s lips. “I’ll behave today, but I do expect a _very_ thorough payment…don’t disappoint me, Ishtar.”

Marik couldn’t respond with anything other than a muffled moan as Bakura kissed him again, hard and passionate. His hands scrambled to help Bakura undo his belt, but before Bakura could so much as touch the first button on Marik’s jeans, the intercom rang loudly.

“You have to be fucking kidding me!” Bakura shouted, shoving himself away from Marik. Scowling, he yanked his own jeans back up and stalked over to the intercom while Marik rolled around, helpless with laughter. Bakura jabbed a button on the wall, took a deep breath, and muttered, “who is it?”

“Bakura? Is that you? It’s Rishid and - ”        

“Oh, hey. Sixth floor, number 18.” Bakura buzzed them through and leaned his head against the door with a groan. “Why the fuck are they here this early?”

“Sorry, _habibi,”_ Marik murmured, pushing himself to his feet. He crossed the room to Bakura and slid behind him, wrapping his arms round his waist and nibbling the side of his neck. “You, uh…wanna go and take care of your little problem before they get up here?”

Bakura shook his head. “Just the thought of seeing your sister again has made me flaccid.”

“She isn’t _that_ scary.”

“Sisters are always scary. I know mine was.” Bakura grinned, turned his head to peck Marik’s lips, then slipped out of his embrace to dart back into the kitchen. Marik heard the kettle start to heat up, and he couldn’t help but smile.

_Ha, you homely son of a bitch, Kura._

* * *

“I never thought I would see anything like this in my entire life,” Ishizu murmured in wonderment as she leaned against the kitchen counter, mug of tea in hand. Rishid stood beside her, nodding, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest.

Marik looked up at them from the table and smiled, knowing their eyes were on Bakura. He was hiding away in the living room, sketching, with baby Nefertari sat at his feet. Marik could hardly believe how much she’d grown since she’d been born, and how _noisy_ she was, squealing excitedly as she flung her toys about. Bakura scowled every time she squealed, but he peeked down at her every now and then to check on her, and when she picked up one of his pencils and stuck it in her mouth, he took it from her with minimal grumbling, whilst passing over a sheet of paper for her to tear into tiny shreds. She laughed as flutters of white stuck in her hair and scattered the carpet, and Marik nearly hit the deck in shock when he saw a faint smile light up Bakura’s face.

“So how have you been, Marik?” Ishizu asked. “Are your studies going well?”

“Amazing,” Marik beamed, “absolutely amazing. I finally feel like I’m doing something worthwhile! I think my lecturers and cohort find me pretty fascinating, given our family’s past, so I’m forever being asked questions, but you know what…I like it, it’s nice.” Marik stared down into his mug, watching the ripples in the black coffee as he tapped his fingers along the polished ceramic. “I thought I would hate being the centre of attention that way, but it feels like they’re genuinely interested in me, not just squeezing all the info out of the funny foreign boy so they can complete their assignments quickly.”

“We’re very proud of you,” Rishid murmured.

“Aw, thanks, Rishid. Means a lot to hear you say that.”

Rishid sipped his coffee with a hint of a smile, looking about as pleased as he could do, given his stoic nature. “You have changed even more than when I saw you last.”

“Oh?”

“Mm. I daresay it has a lot to do with him.” Rishid pointed into the living room; Bakura had put his sketchbook aside and was lying on his stomach on the floor, watching Nefertari crawl around. “He’s changed too.”

 _That’s for sure,_ Marik thought to himself, _and not just because he’s got a tan and darker hair now._ Ishizu was nodding in agreement with Rishid, admiring the way their daughter seemed to have taken an instant liking to Bakura. “I will admit, I was extremely worried when you first moved,” Ishizu said. “I know you are an adult, and you can look after yourself, but still…knowing you were getting yourself involved with Bakura…I wanted to be happy for you, and I was, yet still, it was difficult to forget everything that had happened in the past. Marik, I am so very sorry. I can see now that I was gravely mistaken about him. I doubt you require my blessing, but you have it, if it is any comfort to you.”

A flutter of joy made Marik’s heart leap, and he got up from the table to throw his arms round his sister, hugging her tightly. “Don’t make me cry and smudge my kohl,” he sniffed.

“Oh, Marik, please don’t be upset.” Ishizu patted his head affectionately.

“I’m not upset, I’m happy. I’m glad you accept him, and us.”

“Why would I not? You love him, and he makes you happy. That’s good enough for me.” Rishid nodded at her words, ever the quiet one, but his brainwaves might as well have been Ishizu’s, such was the synchronicity of their thoughts.

Before anybody else could get emotional, a panicked shout rang out from the living room.

“Nefertari-Rose Ishtar, get down from there this instant!”

“Oh dear,” Ishizu laughed, separating from Marik.

 _I can’t believe he remembered her full name,_ Marik thought with amusement.

Barely a second later, Nefertari screamed, making everyone jump. Bakura appeared in the doorway, the baby girl sat on his hip and sobbing loudly. “She fell off the coffee table,” he muttered, raising his free hand to rub the red mark on Nefertari’s forehead. “Took my eye off her for a second and – ” He narrowed his eyes at the Ishtar family; Ishizu staring with an astonished expression, Rishid chuckling, Marik blushing violently. “What the hell are you all staring at, you morons?!”

Ishizu touched Rishid’s arm and smiled up at him, then walked over to Bakura, taking Nefertari and cradling her to her bosom. Then she leaned in and kissed Bakura’s cheek. Shocked, he held a hand over where her lips had touched, blinking rapidly. “I’ll feed her, that should calm her down,” Ishizu murmured. “Would you prefer if I went somewhere private?”

Bakura rolled his eyes. “I’m three thousand years old, woman. How do you think _I_ was fed? Feed her anywhere you like, I’ve seen it all before.”

“Thank you.” Smiling at Bakura, she breezed past him into the living room, where she sat down on the sofa to nurse Nefertari.

Bakura looked from Marik to Rishid, to the floor, then back to Marik. Marik could see straight away that he was starting to freak out a little. _Playing happy families must be more difficult for him than I imagined. Did I push him too far?_

“Are you…feeling okay, love?” Marik asked him in slow, thoughtful English, stumbling over his words slightly. His siblings wouldn’t understand him.

Bakura frowned. “I’m fine,” he replied curtly in the same tongue, turning on his heel and stalking from the room. Their bedroom door slammed shut a few moments later.

“Everything alright?” Rishid asked Marik.

“Yeah, don’t worry. Just a bit out of Bakura’s comfort zone. He’ll probably go and work on his canvas or something.”

“Are we making him uncomfortable?”

“No, more he’s making himself uncomfortable. It’s been a long time since he’s had to deal with any family that wasn’t his own.”

“He is very taken with Nefertari.”

“You think so?”

“Oh, yes.” Rishid’s eyes sparkled with fatherly pride. “But don’t worry, I won’t tell him that. I know it would embarrass him.”

“Damn, Rishid, sometimes I think you know him better than me.”

“You and he are more alike than you would think, Marik.”

“Somehow I don’t think that’s a good thing.”

“I doubt you two would have fallen in love if it had been any other way.”

_He’s…he’s right. Wow, I never thought of it like that._

Later in the evening, Nefertari had been put down on the sofa to sleep, and Bakura had emerged from the bedroom after several hours of alone time, smudged with oil pastel as usual and his hair in disarray. Marik had ordered takeout, and indicated Bakura’s food as he trailed in, looking wary. “Thanks,” he whispered, keeping his eyes averted from Rishid and Ishizu.

“Busy at work?” Ishizu smiled at Bakura as he sat down on the floor beside Marik.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Tell me about your art. Marik tells me you have quite the talent.”

Bakura glared at Marik for a moment, who just giggled. With a sigh, Bakura poked at his food with his chopsticks. “I started doing it when I moved in with Ryou. I was bored, and wanted something to do with my hands, and had too many thoughts floating around my head that I needed to express somehow. I knew Ryou had some canvases and oil pastels lying about, so I stole them and started doing whatever came to me.”

“Would you call it painting, or drawing?”

“Painting, I guess? They’re just little sticks, but I’m not _drawing_ with them.”

“And what do you paint?”

“Memories from my past life. My dreams. Still life. Anything that takes my fancy.” Bakura waved a hand at the wall behind them, where Marik had hung one of his works a few months ago. It depicted Bakura’s _ka,_ the pure white, serpentine Diabound. “Marik says it might help me come to terms with everything that happened. I think it’s bullshit. I just like doing it.”

“No, it makes sense,” Ishizu interjected. “It must have been traumatic for you, to go through what you did as a child.”

Marik bit his lip, hoping that Bakura wouldn’t come out with one of his usual acid-tongued replies. For a moment, he looked as though he might, but then he shrugged and began eating. Smiling, Marik squeezed Bakura’s free hand in thanks.

Rishid got up from the end of the sofa to look at Diabound, a slightly surprised expression gracing his usually set features. “I read about this as a child,” he said quietly. “Bakura, have you considered that your artwork could be of significant value to Ancient Egyptian study?”

“Yeah,” he replied gruffly. “Marik’s already had to fend off a few admirers at uni, so my name’s known now. When Marik mentioned about the paintings, the head lecturer asked if he could meet me to discuss my knowledge.”

“Have you met him yet?”

Bakura shook his head. “I don’t know if I…it’s…”

Ishizu smiled sadly. “You want to keep those memories to yourself. They’re precious to you.” Slowly, Bakura nodded. “Of course, that is understandable,” Ishizu told him gently, her voice soft and tender and _so fucking sisterly, why? Don’t treat me like your family, woman!_  “…But know this, Bakura…nobody can take those memories from you. No matter what you say, or do, or paint, those memories will always be yours and yours alone. You have a gift, and a unique insight into life as many of us will never know. You have already begun sharing that gift through your paintings, so what harm could a little more sharing do? I think I can vouch for Rishid and Marik when I say that our family, as involved with the museum and Egyptology as we are, would much appreciate the contribution to our work and legacy. However…ultimately, it is up to you.”

Marik found himself nodding and smiling at his lover, agreeing with every word his sister said. _Bakura has been through so much in his life. For all that I suffered with my own childhood and my initiation, I can’t even begin to compare it with the trauma and agony he has been dealt. If it’s too much to ask of him, I’d never push him, but I hope he realises that he could do so much for our field._

As Rishid returned to his seat, Bakura looked to Marik as if for support. This time, Bakura was the one to initiate intimate contact, grabbing for Marik’s hand with both his own and leaning in close, overwhelmed and unsure of what to do. Marik brushed his lips over Bakura’s brow while raising his free hand to stroke Bakura’s wild mane of hair. “Take your time,” he murmured in gentle Middle Egyptian, hoping the sound of Bakura’s native tongue would soothe him. “Nobody is making you decide right this very moment. Take your time, Bakura.”

“Marik…”

Bakura looked so lost and vulnerable at that moment that all thoughts of modesty and discretion went out of the window. Marik cupped Bakura’s cheek and pressed their lips together gently, needing Bakura to know that he wasn’t alone in his struggle. To his surprise, Bakura responded with a soft, needful whimper, his grip on Marik’s hand tightening and his body trembling.

Rishid touched Ishizu’s shoulder, making her look away from the touching scene before her. “I think we’ve given Bakura enough to think about for tonight. We should go now.”

“Yes, I believe you’re right.”

Marik broke away from Bakura and beamed at his siblings. “Thanks for visiting, guys. It’s been amazing to see you again. I’ve got the day off tomorrow, if you want to meet up again. Just give me a call and we’ll arrange something.”


	12. Chapter 12

 

* * *

Nefertari, still sleeping, was bundled into a soft woven wrap on Ishizu’s back, and she and Rishid said their goodbyes for the night. Bakura grudgingly let Ishizu kiss his cheek again, but he was a little more responsive to Rishid’s handshake. The minute they were gone, he rounded on Marik, pointing towards their bedroom. “In there. Now.”

Marik didn’t need to be told twice. Laughing, he ran down the hallway, and just about managed to get through the bedroom door before Bakura grabbed him, slamming his back up against the wall and kicking the door shut behind them. Marik uttered a moan of delight against Bakura’s lips, tangling his fingers in his lover’s hair and allowing himself to be consumed by the sudden outburst of dominance. It made a surprisingly welcome change from their usual fits of passion, and he found himself willing, _wanting_ to submit completely to Bakura, let him take the reins and do whatever he wanted.

Bakura pulled his mouth away from Marik’s and glared up at him with a violent lust burning in his eyes. “Strip,” he ordered.

Marik flashed him a sultry smile, before crossing his arms over at his waist, grasping the hem of the tight black t-shirt he wore, and dragging it slowly over his head. He shook his hair back from his face, and Bakura sat down on the bed, enjoying the show. Marik’s fingers fluttered teasingly down his own stomach, coming to rest on his belt, then prying it open and unbuttoning his jeans. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous," Bakura breathed, feeling his own jeans beginning to tighten considerably in the front.

“You’re one to talk.” Marik slid his jeans down over slim hips and stepped out of them, his boxers hitting the floor moments later. Bakura couldn't help but lick his lips appreciatively, his gaze raking over Marik's beautiful body. He didn't know what he'd done to deserve such majesty, but there was no way he was going to complain about it now. Beckoning with a finger, he bade Marik approach the bed.

A gloriously naked wonder of gold jewellery and bronzed skin, Marik straddled Bakura and wound his fingers back into his hair, bringing their faces close and brushing his lips just barely over Bakura's. "So..." he whispered, "your reward. I believe it's time you received it."

Bakura grinned at his lover eagerly. "I'm calling the shots on this whole thing, you do realise that, right?"

"Mm, _habibi..._ hearing you so demanding is making me hot..."

"Answer me."

Marik moaned softly, a demure blush highlighting his cheeks. "Yes...you're in complete control."

"Then I want to fuck you."

Bakura's tone was firm, but not overly so. If Marik wanted to back out, he'd be fine with that. In the year they had been together, Bakura had always bottomed. They had never even discussed switching, but the thought had begun to play on Bakura's mind of late. It felt like they had done everything but that, and only now had he felt confident enough to broach the subject. Would Marik be uncomfortable? Would he be averse to being taken the way he took Bakura most nights?

But Marik just giggled shyly and nodded, pressing a brief kiss to Bakura's lips. "Anything, _habibi._ Anything you want. I'm all yours to command."

 _Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck..._ Bakura's mind began racing at Marik's words, imagining all the lewd things he could say, knowing Marik would obey him. He felt like a child in a sweet shop as he forced himself to take a few deep breaths and calm down. "Undress me," he ordered.

Marik grabbed the open edges of Bakura's red plaid shirt, the one he loved, and tugged downwards, pulling it away from Bakura's arms. The white t-shirt under that was next to go, then Marik slid off Bakura's lap to kneel on the carpet as he rid him of his jeans and boxers. He allowed his hands to run up Bakura's smooth, pale thighs, but otherwise did nothing else, gazing up at his lover expectantly.

Bakura could feel the adrenaline pounding in his veins at the exhilaration of having Marik at his mercy. "On the bed, kneeling up, hands on the headboard.”

Nodding, Marik eased himself back onto the bed and assumed his position. Bakura knelt behind him, smoothing his hands down Marik's arms and kissing the side of his neck. "I'm going to touch you, all over," he murmured against the shell of Marik's ear, feeling him shiver delightfully, "but tell me if you need me to stop, and I will. Understand?" Marik nodded again, and Bakura nibbled his earlobe playfully, pleased.

He could have just thrown Marik down and taken him roughly, the way Marik often took Bakura himself. He could have indulged himself by getting straight to where his cock wanted to bury itself, but no…having the opportunity to fully explore Marik's body in this way was the most exciting thing Bakura could imagine right now, and he intended to take his sweet fucking time with it.

His caressing started at Marik's hips, letting his thumbs just graze over the jutting bones as he leaned closer to Marik, scarred back to unmarked chest, lavishing his neck and shoulders with adoring kisses. Marik moaned in sheer bliss, breathing heavily. Bakura swept upwards, across the endless plains of Marik's rolling abdominal muscles and further up to stroke his chest and collarbone before dipping back down a little, teasing his nipples into stiff peaks. "Do you like this?" Bakura whispered.

"Oh, Kura," Marik moaned breathlessly, his brain too foggy with lust to form a decent answer.

Bakura relished the feel of Marik’s skin under his wandering fingers. He left no area of his body untouched, from his face to his feet. Marik let out a particularly loud moan when Bakura carefully kneaded his knuckles into the arch of his foot, and he made a mental note to give Marik a proper massage at some near point in the future, if only to hear him moan like that again.

The kissing began next. Bakura started at Marik’s neck and worked his way downwards, darting his tongue out every now and then to taste his lover’s delectable skin. Marik’s breathing grew heavier and heavier, and more than once he let go of the headboard in an attempt to slip a hand between his legs, but Bakura swatted his urge away and redoubled his efforts. Bakura’s own erection ached with the need for stimulation, but he held back and continued to kiss and lick down Marik’s back, writing his own hieratic between the valleys of scars that branded Marik’s flesh.

Lower, lower…Bakura brushed his lips over the very base of Marik’s spine…lower…

“Bakura - !” Marik panted, practically writhing under his touch. “Bakura, please…I can’t take much – ” A burst of wet, wriggling pleasure shot up from his balls to his shoulders, and he screamed, arching his back. “Oh, ohhh, fuck! Gods, yes!”

“Mm…yes…scream for me, Marik,” Bakura purred, giving another slow lick to Marik’s asshole and remembering how amazing the sensation had been for him, the first time he had been on the receiving end. Determined to make sure Marik felt the same ecstasy, he plunged his tongue in as deep as it would reach, and reached a hand between Marik’s legs to grasp his cock, pumping slowly and drawing more loud cries of pleasure.

“Kura, please!” Marik begged, his throat hoarse from shouting. “Oh gods, more, please!”

With his free hand, Bakura fumbled underneath the cushions for a stray bottle of lube. On his command, Marik let go of the headboard and turned around to lie on his back. Bakura’s face flushed to see the state of the blonde; sweat beaded his brow, his chest rose and fell rapidly, and he appeared almost delirious with desire. It was like nothing the former thief had ever seen before, and he loved it. Being pulled from shadows into this godforsaken world was so worth it to be able to experience Marik in such an exposed state.

Smirking down at his wanton lover, he coated his fingers with lube and brought them to Marik’s asshole, circling slow and testing the waters. Marik’s breath hitched and he drew his knees to his chest, giving Bakura more room to work with.

“Ready?” Bakura asked him. Marik nodded, and Bakura slid the first finger inside, easing it in and out carefully so as not to cause discomfort. Marik’s brow furrowed as he adjusted to the sensation, but otherwise there was little reaction. It was clear he could take another straight away; Bakura added a second finger, and that was enough to make Marik exhale a deep sigh of pleasure. His eyes closed and he tilted his head back, humming in delight. "That okay?" Bakura asked.

"Yeah," Marik smiled. "Could you...add another?"

"Are you sure?"

"Kura..."

Bakura chuckled, and slid in a third finger. Marik's insides accepted his exploring digits like a familiar friend, and Bakura wondered whether Marik had done this to himself before. They had toys, but anything penetrative was solely used on Bakura in the bedroom. With a wry smirk, he imagined Marik checking to see if he was home alone before raiding their kink drawer for something to fuck himself with.

"What are you smirking about?" Marik demanded. His cheeks were bright red and his hair an untamed mess as he rocked his hips up and down, practically riding Bakura's fingers.

"Nothing," Bakura replied. Hooking his fingers, he pressed upwards as Marik brought his hips down, watching him writhe and moan in response. Oh yes, he'd definitely done this before. “You’re such a fucking slut.”

“You – _mmm…_ you love it.”

“I didn’t deny it.” Bakura slid his fingers out and slicked his cock with lubricant. “Um…so, how do you want this?”

Marik giggled, pushing a few stray strands of hair out of his eyes. “I don’t know. What usually feels good for you?”

Bakura pondered a moment. _Honestly, it feels best for me on all fours, or on my stomach, but somehow I don’t think Marik would like that. And in any case, I want to see his face._ Coming to his decision, he leaned over Marik’s body, wrapped his fingers round his lover’s ankles and pulled them upwards till his calves rested on Bakura’s shoulders. The position near bent Marik in half, but he knew he could take it, and he saw no discomfort on his face. “I’m, uh…going to start now, okay?” Bakura said.

“Where has all your demanding gone, _habibi?”_ Marik grinned, cocking an eyebrow.

“Shut up. God fucking forbid I check you’re still okay with this.”

“You shut up, and fuck me already.” As if to urge him, Marik bucked upwards, signalling his desire.

There was no way Bakura could hold out a second more. His whole body screamed for release and his heart was racing at the knowledge of what was to come. Taking a deep breath, he pushed inside, slipping in easily. The sheer heat and overwhelming tightness threatened to completely consume Bakura’s senses, and he had to pause to catch his breath, while Marik uttered a soft moan, grabbing at Bakura’s biceps and digging his fingers in. “Holy fuck…” he gasped. “Gods, I knew you were big, but this makes you feel – oh, holy fuck, Bakura…”

“Dammit, Marik…you’re so fucking tight!”

“Of course I am.” Marik hitched his hips up and down slightly, trying to encourage Bakura to start moving. “Come on, _habibi._ I’m waiting.”

“You’re so bloody impatient.” Bakura had calmed down a little now, and felt more in control now he had adjusted to the sensation of being inside Marik. The gentle rocking of Marik's hips felt incredible, and he couldn't help thinking how much better it was going to be once they really got started. Bakura dipped his head to kiss Marik's parted lips, and then started moving. Careful motions of his hips, in and out, using everything he knew from the countless times Marik had fucked him to Aaru and back. He truly had lost count; Marik had an insatiable sexual appetite, and it hadn't taken long for it to rub off on Bakura too. He swore he'd never need porn, ever, not when he was bound to such a sultry minx. Surely nothing could ever compare.

Bakura kept his thrusts paced and careful, knowing it was easy to stab too deep in this position, and he didn't want to cause Marik any pain. "Is this okay?" Bakura asked, trying to keep his voice level, but it was difficult with the fiery ecstasy coursing through his body, and Marik's nails dragging burning but pleasurable trails down his shoulders.

"Back is - _ah! -_ a bit uncomfortable now..." Marik panted.

Bakura's movements stopped immediately. "Okay. Hang on a moment." He sat back, allowing Marik's legs to drop to the mattress, then pulled Marik up into his lap. "How's this?"

Marik squirmed, moaning already as he draped his arms round Bakura’s shoulders. "Much better...ohhh...it feels so good like this..."

"Lean back a little," Bakura chuckled. "I think you may like it."

With a small frown, Marik did so, unwinding one of his arms and bracing himself with it on Bakura’s knee. “I don’t see how this is supposed to – ”

Bakura snapped his hips up, just the once, and Marik’s eyes went wide. “Holy fuck,” he whispered.

“See?”

“Oh, shut up, you smug git.”

“What was that?” Bakura bucked his hips again, and this time Marik groaned, throwing his head back. “Well, don’t expect me to do all the work here, Marik.”

“I hate you,” Marik grumbled, but he was smiling faintly as he heeded Bakura and began to move, meeting Bakura’s rocking with his own back-and-forth motions.

Their sarcastic banter softened, and devolved, and soon they clutched at each other, panting, moaning through fumbled kisses and choked cries of the others’ name. Bakura’s hands continued to wander, making good on his wish to touch Marik all over, and the young Egyptian trembled with delight, welcoming the anchorage to his lover.

In these moments, when they were intimately joined, their souls entwined, they were complete. It was as if one could not exist without the other, and even if both were loathe to admit it, they knew it was true. Their relationship was so much more than love and lust; it was partnership, and it was far from pure, but it was perfect.

“Bakura, I-I…I’m close - !”

“Mmmm – ”

“T-Touch me! Please!”

_Oh, fucking hell yes._

The position was a little awkward, but nothing in that moment could stop Bakura’s fingers wrapping around Marik’s cock, jerking hard and fast. Marik all but screamed in ecstasy, lasting only a few seconds more before exploding hot spurts of white over Bakura’s hand, belly and chest. The sight of Marik so undone was enough to push Bakura over the edge into his own orgasm, his thrusts gradually slowing down as he felt all his energy leaving him.

Finally, he ground to a halt, uttering a low groan and burying his head in Marik’s shoulder. “Fuck…” he gasped. “Fuck me sideways, that was good.”

Marik laughed softly, kissing the top of Bakura’s head. “I mean, yeah, sure, I can do that next time.”

“Oh, shut up,” Bakura muttered, but his arm tightened around Marik and he nuzzled affectionately into Marik’s warmth.

“I need a shower. You want to join me?”

“Does the Pharaoh have fucking stupid hair?”

Marik laughed at that, and disentangled himself from Bakura, grimacing a little at the mess they’d made of the sheets, but he held out his hand to Bakura to help him up, and together they walked to the bathroom. Marik started the water and gave it a moment to heat up, then Bakura jumped in first while Marik removed his jewellery and scrubbed away his makeup.

“You’d better hurry up, or I won’t wash your back for you,” Bakura sang, poking his head round the curtain.

“Ha, as if.” Marik stepped in and shoved Bakura out of the way so he could wet his hair. “You know I’ll bitch about being in pain all of tomorrow, and then you’ll regret not helping me out.”

“You’re such an arse.” Bakura’s tone was grouchy, but his touch was gentle as he began swirling soap over Marik’s skin. Marik leaned his head back a little and sighed, enjoying the heat of the shower spray and the dance of Bakura’s fingers down his spine. “You’re lucky I like touching you,” Bakura continued, “and that you don’t care if anyone sees your back anymore.”

“So was that your reward?” Marik giggled. “Just being able to touch me? I thought _I_ was supposed to be the one giving you pleasure.”

“Oh, but you did, Marik.” Bakura nosed a little of Marik’s hair out of the way, leaning close to kiss the side of his neck. “Letting me have power over your body like that was the biggest turn-on.”

“Really?”

“Did I fucking stutter?”

“Um…will you…could you do that again sometime? Take over, I mean. Honestly, it was pretty sexy.”

Bakura laughed, trailing his kisses upwards. “Anything for you, love.”


	13. Chapter 13

It had never occurred to Bakura that there would be so many people in Marik’s university cohort. Sure, he’d heard Marik speak of them a few times, but he’d never paid too much attention, and assumed there was around five of them at most.

He wasn’t expecting thirty. He _certainly_ wasn’t expecting all eyes to be on him as if he were royalty. For the class’s current module, they had to write a formative essay on a Pharaoh of their choice. Given the significant media coverage over the last few years concerning the Millennium Items and the discovery of Atem’s name, nearly every student wanted to write about Atem or his father, Akhenamkhanen. There was only so much they could research on their own, however, and even less that they could cite, so Marik had asked Yugi if he wouldn’t mind coming in to chat with the cohort about their collective experiences with the once-Nameless Pharaoh. When Bakura found out, he had exploded with rage and demanded that he be present too, in case Yugi tried to twist his words.

So now, Bakura, feeling rather self-conscious and out of place, sat cross-legged on a desk in front of thirty students, one being his bright-eyed, drop-dead-gorgeous boyfriend, and occasionally shot glares at Yugi, who looked pristine and smart and practically exuding sheer excitement. The way everyone stared still unnerved him, but he knew why they were doing it; finally, they were getting to see the talented artist that Marik had told them so much about – mostly to ward off his admirers, mind, but he enjoyed talking about Bakura all the same.

“…Mm-hm. Seven of them,” Yugi was saying, in answer to a student’s question. “They were worn by the royal court and the Pharaoh himself, and…well, I think Bakura is better suited to explain this part.” As Bakura glanced up at Yugi, he saw him holding out a drywipe marker. “Here, you should draw the Items. Not everyone will have seen them.”

Bakura scowled lightly, but took the marker from Yugi and slid off the desk to quickly sketch the seven Millennium Items on the whiteboard. When finished, he tapped the pen against each one. “Puzzle,” he growled. “Ring. Eye. Rod. Necklace. Key. Scales. Priceless artefacts created by shadow magic and a blood sacrifice of ninety-nine screaming souls.”

“Wait, what?!” Younis, an Egyptian student, looked alarmed. “Surely this would be documented somewhere. How is this not common knowledge in Egypt?”

“Because,” Bakura replied, tossing the marker back to Yugi, “Akhenaden, one of the priests, kept the whole thing a secret. Atem’s father, Akhenamkhanen, was Pharaoh then, and he was…” He pursed his lips, trying to find the right words. Akhenamkhanen had been a peaceful ruler, kind and wise, but ignorant to the hunger and suffering of the poorer people of Kemet, and for that, Bakura had never been able to find any love in his heart for him.

“He was needlessly sheltered,” he continued, after a moment’s thought, “and Akhenaden was the Pharaoh’s brother, and felt he knew better in this situation. The Pharaoh might have been the living incarnation of Horus to the people of Kemet, but they didn’t see the pressure and the duties that came with being the ruler, and it was the royal court and the advisers that came down on the Pharaoh like a ton of bricks. Akhenamkhanen probably had enough on his plate at the time, so Akhenaden, he…he took matters into his own hands.”

He looked across the room, seeking out Marik’s gaze. He’d barely taken his eyes off Bakura since the moment he’d arrived, and now he looked anxious, as if worried that Bakura might get angry, or cry, when he began to explain the Items and their history. He said nothing, just continued to watch, but those beautiful, haunting violet eyes comforted Bakura somewhat, and he managed to carry on after a few deep breaths.

“Kemet’s villages were struggling. They couldn’t get enough to eat, while those in the capital flourished. Many turned to thievery and tomb robbing in order to survive, and the village of Kul Elna was no different. Akhenaden, he knew about this, but he never told his brother. All he told him was that he’d found a way to restore some order to Kemet, and that he’d need a week to prepare the spell.”

A Japanese girl, Inoue, raised her hand. “If I may…was this spell the…the blood sacrifice you spoke of?”

“That’s the one.”

“But I don’t understand. Pray, forgive my rudeness, but how is it that you possess such knowledge, when there is no record of anything you have said?”

Bakura looked back up at Marik. “How much have you told them?” he asked.

“Nothing about your past,” Marik replied, shrugging. “It wasn’t my place to say.”

“Then this is going to be hard to believe,” Bakura sighed, “but it’s the truth, and I’m sure Yugi can back me up with some concrete evidence…I was there, kid. I saw the whole thing. I saw my people burn, to be melted down into those oversized pieces of jewellery.”

“But – ”

“- And yes, it was three thousand years ago. I was still there.”

Inoue shook her head. “I wish it were not so, but this is indeed very hard to believe.”

“We know,” Yugi smiled sadly. He reached out to give Bakura’s hand a squeeze, and it was only the numerous pairs of eyes on them that kept Bakura from jerking away. “It sounds crazy, doesn’t it? But those Items, they’re real, and on display in the museum in Cairo.” Bakura had to fight back the urge to cackle madly as Yugi tactfully left out the part about the Ring on display being fake. “And remember Battle City? All the strange business that went on then? That was the power of the Millennium Items. I held one myself, as did Bakura…as did Marik.”

Suddenly, all eyes turned to Marik, who shifted in his seat, looking a little uncomfortable. “I knew I recognised your name from somewhere,” another Japanese student, Gin, remarked. “You were in the finals, weren’t you?”

Marik scratched the back of his head. “Uh, yeah…yeah, I was.”

“You had the Rod.”

“Yup.”

“And you – ”

“Yeah, everything you’re about to say is most likely true,” Marik snapped. “I’m not proud of it, but what’s done is done. Look, Bakura doesn’t lie, and he _wouldn’t_ lie about something like this. He’s here in this time because of shadow magic, and it’s shadow magic that got him into this mess as a child. He wouldn’t come here today to spin you a web of lies, and neither would Yugi. Yugi’s body housed the spirit of the Pharaoh Atem _himself_ for two years. I met him. I knew him. And he was cocky and arrogant, but he was also one of the kindest people I’ve ever known. I think he’d have done everything in his power to make things in Kemet right, if only he’d known what was going wrong.”

It was clear Marik wasn’t willing to talk about himself, nor did Bakura want him to. It was difficult enough accepting his past without his cohort interrogating him on the life he used to live.

Luckily, Yugi took the reins from there, taking the attention away from a glowering, shamefaced Marik. “Atem really was…he was something special,” he said with a smile. “He cared for all his friends as though they were his family, and he always looked out for people, regardless of whether they had wronged him or not.  Though it is true that he carried an arrogant streak, I believe he was over-confident, and this was how it showed itself in him.”

An English student, Coren, raised her hand. “What was he like as Pharaoh? He didn’t rule for very long, did he?”

“A year, if that,” Bakura replied, “and the dumb kid was every bit as sheltered as his father. Knew nothing of the goings-on outside the palace walls, nor do I think he truly cared at that point.” Bakura could feel the familiar rage bubbling inside him at the thought of Atem’s angry dismissal of his claims, all those millennia ago; the stupid child had never even thought to slow down and fucking _listen_ to what he’d had to say. Okay, granted, Bakura had literally dragged Akhenamkhanen’s mummified corpse into the throne room like a grisly piñata, which hadn’t really helped the overall atmosphere, but dammit, he’d needed to make an impression _somehow._

“But…” he continued, his voice softer now, toned down by the saddened, wistful look in Yugi’s sparkling eyes that sent a guilty pang straight to his heart, “he loved his country, and his people. He couldn’t fix what he didn’t know. He was too young to have had a real shot at uniting his kingdom, and maybe his first few years would have been shaky, but…” Bakura ran a hand through his hair self-consciously, “I think…I think he would have been a good ruler, had he gotten that chance.”

Yugi turned away, sniffling. “Dammit, Bakura,” he laughed, dabbing at his cheeks with his sleeve, “how dare you put water in my eyes like this.”

“Grow a pair, pipsqueak,” Bakura grinned, “they’ll match your shiny new muscles.” Inside, his guts had twisted themselves into embarrassed, emotional knots, but as he glanced over at Marik, he saw his Egyptian beauty with his hands clasped as if in prayer, half-covering his face and a silly little smile turning up his lips, even as tears, full of pride and adoration for his thief, fell from his eyes. That was all Bakura needed to relax, and know he’d done the right thing in coming along today.

* * *

Later, back at home, Marik had made his appreciation known in the way only he could – a barrage of overly-affectionate kisses and nuzzles, followed by playful bites at his neck, and before Bakura knew it, he’d been pinned to the sofa by his lover’s delicious body weight as his lips were attacked and his clothes carelessly flung away. Their ever-present supply of lube was dug out from beneath the sofa cushions, and Bakura pushed Marik up into a sitting position, moving to straddle his lap and drop down on his waiting cock without prior preparation. They rocked together, kissing, panting, moaning, and when it was over, Marik whispered soft words of thanks into Bakura’s hair as they embraced tenderly.

“They’re all going to want to speak to you two again, you know,” Marik told Bakura, a few hours after their passionate session. They’d ordered takeout, put on a movie, and Bakura had dragged the blankets from their bed into the living room so they could curl underneath them and definitely _not_ snuggle, but somehow he’d ended up with Marik cuddled into his chest anyway, like a lovestruck teenager.

Bakura shrugged in response to Marik’s statement as he dabbed pizza sauce from the corner of his mouth and sucked it off his finger. “They weren’t that bad, I guess. I was more pissed that they rounded on you.”

“No, it’s fine, really,” Marik replied. “I did do some horrible stuff in the past, and a lot was coming out of the woodwork today, so…it’s okay. Forget about me, you and Yugi did really well today.”

“Mm.”

“It must have been hard for you, Kura. I mean it. Thank you for what you did today.”

Bakura grinned, nuzzling the crown of Marik’s head. “Don’t mention it, fuckface.”

“I think that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“I love you too, _habibi.”_

They finished their food in relative silence, only speaking up occasionally to discuss something of the movie that they were only half paying attention to. Bakura made tea, and this time he was the one to cuddle up, nestling under Marik’s arm and holding his steaming mug close to his chest, emulating the poetic warmth that seeped into his heart whenever Marik was near.

Marik, who had given him life, a home.

Marik, who was everything he needed.

Marik, who had come to be the sole reason Bakura desired to live on.

The light in Bakura’s darkness, the shining sun that chased away the shadows of the night…Marik had done more to repair Bakura’s broken heart in a single year than simple revenge against the Pharaoh, and Bakura’s family finally being able to rest, could ever have. At first it had frightened Bakura, the sudden, overwhelming need for closeness, but as time went on, he had come to realise that his feelings were nothing to be afraid of. This was life. People loved in their lives. They spent time with their friends, they found hobbies, they laughed and cried and sometimes experienced every damn emotion at once. It was _normal._

And now, wrapped up in blankets and Marik’s arms, Bakura knew that he would never again deny himself the pleasures of life as he’d come to know it.

“Marik.”

“Yeah, _habibi?”_

“I finished my latest piece this morning. You wanna see?”

Marik’s face lit up. Bakura had been working on his latest canvas for months, but hadn’t allowed anyone a single glance at it the whole time. “You bet I do!”

The blankets fell away from their boxer-clad bodies as they stood, mugs still in hand, and made their way to the spare bedroom, where Bakura worked. The canvas sat on an easel, covered with a sheet to conceal it from view. Bakura drained the remainder of his tea, set the empty mug on the floor, then twitched the cloth aside.

A swirl of indescribable darkness, purples and blacks, painted the scene. In the midst of it all, in the foreground, a white-haired young man knelt, naked and cold, his back to the viewer. He gazed upwards, to where the colours began to change – light filtering through the bleakness and reaching out to offer salvation, salvation in the shape of a circular pendant with five tines, and in the centre, where the eye of Anubis would have sat, instead dimly wavered a kohl-outlined orb of soft lavender.

Marik turned to Bakura and smiled warmly, setting his mug aside to draw him close and peck him on the lips. “It’s wonderful,” he whispered. “Are you selling this one?”

Bakura shook his head. “No. This one’s for me and me alone.”

“What are you going to call it?”

_“See Me in Shadow.”_

_“See Me in Shadow…”_ Marik repeated, nodding. “Very fitting. Suits it well.”

“Well,” Bakura grinned, “it’s perfect, really, when you think about how you and Ryou dragged me out of eternal damnation.”

“I see you didn’t include anything of Ryou in this.”

“He did his part and he did it well, but he isn’t part of my love story.” Bakura rested his head against Marik’s, closing his eyes. “I painted this to show the beginning of life as I truly knew it. A life where I didn’t have to be afraid of everything that might have been round the corner. Thanks to you, I’ve seen the world and more.”

Bakura scowled, but nestled closer to Marik. “Fuck, I hate it. I hate being so soft. But I need it. I couldn’t see it being any other way now. Marik, you…you’ve changed me so much. You’re still as fucking annoying as you’ve ever been, but you know what? I can take it. I can take it and every other little annoyance you throw at me, because you…you vain, irritating, seductive little temptress…you’ve made me need it, and need you. God damn it all, I’m rambling, but fuck, I love you so fucking much, you know?”

Marik stroked Bakura’s hair back from his face and kissed his blushing cheeks, giggling. “I love you too, Bakura. You and your filthy mouth, and your grumpiness, and even the fact you never wash up or do the laundry. I can ignore all that because of what we’ve been through together. I risked a hell of a lot to bring you back – my freedom, my family, my entire future – but here we are, and I wouldn’t change a thing about us for the world.”

“…Shut the fuck up, Ishtar.” But Bakura smiled in mild amusement at his lover’s words. Their fingers laced together as their lips met, sunlight and moonlight, light and dark, coming together as one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_And we are done! Aw, I felt kind of sad writing this last chapter. It certainly was an emotional rollercoaster the whole way through! I hope you all enjoyed it. If you feel up to it, please leave me a quick comment and tell me your thoughts!_ **


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